The Story of Marian Hawke by Varric Tethras
by Zeden
Summary: A young noblewoman learns that social standing is not defined by money alone. A twist to the DA2 story. It does not follow the DA2 rules for the game!
1. Chapter 1

Hello! It's Zeden!*hugs to all*

This story does not follow the rules of the DA2 game. It's a weird twist on my part. I hope you like it or at least tolerate it :D

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**Chapter 1**

Madeline concentrated on her knitting while her granddaughter, Grace, continued to rage. This was the third time in less than a year that her granddaughter had returned from Val Royeaux heartbroken and sworn to take a vow of chastity. André de Béthune, son of a well-known Orlesian noble, had openly declared his love, only to renounce it after Grace publicly embarrassed him at a dinner party by using the wrong fork.

"Grace, my precious, why do you care what those Orlesian men think of you?" Madeline inquired. She glanced up from her knitting to catch her granddaughter's eye. The tears were beginning to well. "They are pompous asses. You should know that by now."

Grace collapsed into the nearest chair with all the exaggeration one would expect in a third rate melodrama_. What an overreaction, _thought Grandmother Madeline. _The University of Orlais may be the most prestigious place of learning in all of Thedas, but it is making my Grace soft, and, if I am honest, a bit too Orlesian._

"You do not understand, grandmother," Grace whispered. A dramatic sigh bellowed from her lips as she sank further into the chair. "I am a minor noble from Starkhaven in their eyes. It is simply awful and so unfair."

Madeline hid a light-hearted grin. "Yes, it is quite unfair to be a simple noble in a place of wealth and opulence." She ignored Grace's eye roll. "Maybe, if we are lucky, one of your wealthy Orlesian suitors will deem us worthy to serve them and their estate."

"Oh grandmother, that is why the Maker created elves," Grace flippantly remarked. The sound of the knitting needles stopped. When the familiar repetitive click did not start again, Grace looked to her grandmother. "Is something wrong?"

For as long as Grace could remember her grandmother knitted while she listened to her every word. When Grace was younger, she would walk to her grandmother's cottage and they would sit near the hearth and talk. Of course, it was mostly Grace who did the talking, but those were fond memories when life seemed much simpler.

Two years ago, her Grandmother Madeline had admitted she needed assistance. That was the day she had moved from her cottage to live in the estate. Grace enjoyed having her grandmother close. She had learned that the old woman enjoyed scandalous gossip, unlike her mother, who always worried.

Grandmother Madeline gestured for the young servant waiting near the door to come close. Thalia was her name and she was an elf. The elven girl nodded her head and curtly crossed the room to speak with the elderly woman. Grace heard only whispers and that in itself was odd. Her grandmother had never deemed it necessary to exclude her in a conversation before today.

The young elf girl smiled brightly before taking her leave. After the door to the sitting room had shut and they were alone, Madeline unclasped her necklace and laid it in the palm of her hand.

"Grace, I want you to take this and open the old chest over there in the corner." Madeline's shaky fingers held the silver necklace aloft to reveal a key. Grace had never noticed it. "You will find a book inside and I want you to bring it to me."

Grandmother Madeline's voice was more insistent than Grace could ever remember. The granddaughter did not hesitate to do as she asked. "Of course, grandmother," Grace said in an obedient voice. "A book you say? May I ask what kind?"

The elderly woman watched her granddaughter glide across the room. _Grace is such a pretty girl. That dark hair, those long legs and big green eyes could paralyze a man at ten paces. _Madeline sighed loud enough for Grace to hear. The young woman turned her head briefly, but decided it was best to retrieve the book instead of asking more questions. _Maker, this grandchild is worldlier than the others. I do not know if it will do more harm than good this time._

The wooden chest was splintered and Grace was certain she could smell sea salt as she opened it. Inside, there were enveloped letters, official documents and a large book bound in leather. _These are my grandmother's private things. I shouldn't snoop, _thought Grace_._ She eyed the letters tied in red ribbon with interest. _I wonder if those are love letters. Hmmm, maybe I will have a peek one day when grandmother is visiting the countryside._

Grace grabbed the dusty book before it became obvious she was dawdling and walked to her grandmother. "Is this what you wanted?"

Two wrinkled hands reached up and reverently took the book. Grace had never seen her grandmother look at something with such fondness.

"Thank you, Grace." Madeline wiped the dust away from the cover. Weather-worn fingers flipped through the brittle pages, and as they did, the old grandmother smiled. "It has been some time since I have read this."

Emotions that Grace had never witnessed crossed her grandmother's face. It was as if she were staring at a different woman. "What...is this book?"

Her grandmother smiled without reserve. "I read it when I was about your age. It was one of my favorite romance novels so..." She handed the book to her granddaughter. "I thought you might enjoy it."

_My grandmamma reads romance novels_? Grace could hardly believe it. _But.._. _she knits and embroiders my gowns. She doesn't think about those... things._

"Something troubling you dear?" Grandmother Madeline inquired with an angelic look on her face. "I was once your age you know and I daresay was a bit less concerned with my noble status."

Grace fidgeted. "I would never have thought you would read this sort of story, grandmother."

"Oh?" Grandmother Madeline said. A devious smile gave the old woman a hint of mischievous youth. "Well, maybe you do not know me as well as you would like to think."

If she did not know better, Grace would have taken the comment as a challenge. "You..." She placed her palm on the book. "You really want me to read this?"

"Yes." Her grandmother did not hesitate to answer. "Why not, dear?" Madeline leaned over and whispered: "I think you will find it _scandalous_." She gave her wink.

_Ah, it makes sense now, _thought Grace_. Grandmother is trying to appeal to me, be my friend as always. _The young woman smiled. "Of course I will read it."

"I would like you to begin by reading it to me... _now_," Madeline firmly stated. "Later, you may read at your leisure, but please indulge an old woman and read for me, Grace."

The words and demand in her grandmother's voice had frightened Grace at first. She felt as if she were being scolded. But, when her grandmother finished her sentence with a smile, she put the feelings aside as a simple misunderstanding.

"As you wish, grandmother," Grace answered in a proper manner. The young woman primly sat down across from Madeline. "I think this will be entertaining."

Madeline smiled. "Yes it will be," she said with an air of smugness. "I expect it will be most entertaining."


	2. Chapter 2: The Story Begins

**Chapter 2**

"The Story of Marian Hawke by Varric Tethras," Grace read aloud. "What a peculiar name...Varric that is."

The old grandmother smiled. "I think you will find that it is the least peculiar subject in this book."

Grace's brow furrowed. "Yes, well, let's continue." She settled further into her chair. "To Marian, Fenris, Andrea, Lucan and Malcolm; may you always know peace and good ale." Grace quirked an eyebrow. "What a peculiar dedication."

"Are you going to comment after every sentence or read, my dear?" Madeline asked. "I will be dead before you finish."

"Grandmamma!" Grace exclaimed. "Please do not say such horrible things."

Madeline noted the Orlesian accent creeping into the word 'horrible.' It did not please her in the slightest. "Continue, and with less commentary, love."

And Grace began to read:

Varric threw his cards on the table. "Damn, Hawke, you won again. Are you cheating?"

"Hmmmm?" She gave him an accusatory glance. "Varric, you are either letting me win out of pity or buttering me up to take on a job for you." Marian gathered up twenty silver into her arms and slid them across the table. They made a 'happy' clink as she deposited them in her purse. "Which is it?"

The dwarf chugged his ale before he answered. A small smirk played on his lips. "I'd deny it, but it would just delay the inevitable." The tankard dropped to the table. "There's something I want to discuss."

"I knew it," she said in a playful tone. "Unless it involves baby animals or children I'm probably in. Marian removed a shaft of wood and a carving knife from a large pouch. She began to whittle away at it. "I am starting to catch on to your wily ways, Varric."

Varric gestured to the wood shavings that lay in curly piles on his table. "Do you have to do that here?" "It makes a big mess, Hawke."

"What if I run out of arrows right before I take down a big ogre that is about to squish you?" Marian asked; a slip of a smile rested on her lips. "I will clean up after myself, Varric."

He shook his hands and conceded. "Yeah... alright, just throw the shavings in the fire when you are done." Marian pulled out another wooden shaft and put the end up to her eye. When she was content the shaft was straight she proceeded to annoy Varric by creating a new pile of wood shavings. "I want you to tell me one story a week, Hawke. There's ten silver in it if you do."

Marian did not look up from her work. "What do you mean? Like a bedtime story and then I tuck you in at night?" She smiled. "That is a bit too kinky for my taste."

"Oh, ha ha, very funny," Varric said. "I want to learn more about you, Hawke. What do you say?"

"Ten silver," Marian said. A perfectly arched eyebrow rose. "That is a nice sum for a story. But..." She looked to Varric. "I am going to guess that you want to choose the topic."

Grace paused from reading and placed the book in her lap. "Grandmother, this book contains crude words. Are you certain you wish me to say them?"

Grandmother Madeline placed her hands over her ears. "Oh my delicate hearing! How could I ever withstand such vulgarity?" A slight smirk played on her lips, while a wise but humored look painted her features. "Child, I am eighty-two and I do believe I have heard every naughty phrase written or spoken in my time. Please continue before I drift off to sleep." Madeline was pleased by her granddaughter's reaction. She found it enjoyable to watch her squirm.

"As you wish, grandmother," Grace said in an uncertain tone. She paused and considered altering the swear word in the next sentence. But, she held too much respect for her grandmother to disobey.

Grace continued:

Varric folded his hands together. "Of course, otherwise you'll tell me some shit I don't want to hear."

"If I do not like the topic...?" Marian asked.

"I am sure we can find a way for us both to get what we want," Varric wiped the ale foam away from his mouth. He studied Marian closely for a hint as to what she might be thinking about his proposition. Over the last month, the dwarf had put his faith in the archer. She was deadly, beautiful and had a great sense of humor. He wasn't sure if it was the leather or the weapon, but for a human, Hawke was a satisfying sight. If she had been three foot shorter, he would have tried his luck. _I wonder if she likes chest hair_. "Do you need more time to think about it?"

Marian laid her wooden arrow shaft on the table. _Varric knows I need the money. Carver and mother are depending on me to get them out of Uncle Gamlen's hell hole of a hovel. Would it be so awful to tell Varric a story... of his choosing... once a week? Maker, yes, but I can be discreet._

"Alright, Varric," Marian answered. "But do not expect to get every last detail from me, especially if it is a sensitive topic." _Like Bethany or father's death. Surely, he would not ask. _She sighed. _Yes he would._

Varric gave her his winning smile. "We'll start off easy, say... Carver. I'm sure there are some stories you could tell me about him without it being too sensitive."

_There is nothing sensitive about Carver. _"Yes," Marian chuckled. "Actually, in the case of Carver, maybe I should be the one paying you. I will finally be able to bitch about him to someone else besides mother. "

"True," Varric shook his head. "Very true." He drummed his stubby fingers on the table. "Has he always been an ass? He's so damn angry all of the time."

Marian opened her pouch and put the wooden shafts away. She unsheathed her composite bow from its scabbard and began polishing it in methodical strokes. The first time Varric had seen her draw the bow he was in awe. No one in this part of Thedas carried a weapon like it. The curves were sexy and exotic, though he would never admit that in front of Bianca. When he had inquired, Marian told him the story of how she had acquired the bow from an Antivan weapon's dealer. She had met him while in the army. Varric was certain there was more to the story than a bit of gold trading hands. Whatever may have happened, she had become a master archer.

"Do you remember last night when Fenris had that disillusioned look on his face?" Marian said. "It reminded me of the day Carver and Bethany was born. My mother had insisted I look at the two new beautiful babies. Bethany was sound asleep gently cooing and had the most angelic face and rosy cheeks. But when I peeked into the other blanket, there was one big fat wrinkly brother crying at the top of his lungs. Some things never change."

Varric laughed. "You are saying he was born annoying?"

Marian put a hand over her heart. "Maker as my witness... yes." She took a small sip of wine. "Can we discuss Carver tomorrow night? I wanted to speak with Fenris before the sun sets."

"Oh?" Varric smirked. "Anything I should know about?"

"He is new and since he has joined our merry band of misfits, I wanted to make him feel welcomed." Marian diverted her eyes. The smallest hint of a blush bloomed on her cheeks. "It is important I... rather we," she corrected quickly, "get to know him... to better understand each other. You understand."

Varric sank back into his chair. "You want to make an ex-slave who was attacked last night by slave hunters feel welcomed to Kirkwall? Hell, I've lived here all my life and I still don't feel welcomed." The dwarf had noticed Marian's lack of eloquence when she spoke of Fenris. It was noted and put aside... for now.

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to try," Marian said. She worried her hands while she tried to explain. "We can show him another side to the city." Her index finger rose signaling her enthusiasm and epiphany. "And that not everyone will tolerate slavers."

_She's really taken a shine to this elf. The very mention of his name makes her blush like a schoolgirl and light up like a candle. _Varric rubbed his lips to hide his smirk. _We've met suave men, dirty men, clean men, elves, dwarves, and everything in between, and she has never flirted with any of them, not once. I put it down to her possibly being a virgin or extremely inexperienced. She has always had this vague look on her face after Isabela tells a lewd joke, like she's trying to figure out how those things are even possible and what fits in which hole. Whatever it is, I don't think Hawke has a clue when it comes to men, and especially not an ex-slave. Women always go for the dark, mysterious brooding bastards._

"Just don't expect too much, Hawke," Varric said in a diplomatic voice. "That elf is backed into a corner right now, and from what I've seen, he bites back."

Marian grabbed her belongings and strapped her bow on her back. "I expect nothing from him." She shrugged her shoulders and smiled. Varric was not convinced, but he nodded. "It will be a friendly chat, nothing more."

"I'll see you tomorrow then, Hawke?" Varric asked. The conversation was on the verge of painful embarrassment. "You sure you still want to go to Sundermount? It's at least a two day hike to get there. My damn legs are sore just from the thought of it."

"I made a promise, Varric, and I intend to keep it," Marian said. Since the first day Varric had met Marian he had noticed the strange amulet dangling around her neck. "I would not be here today if the witch had not saved us."

"And that would be a crying shame," Varric said. He held up his tankard and saluted Marian. "I was telling Isabela the other day that I could do with some fresh air."

Marian gestured to their surroundings. "But the Hanged Man is such a fragrant tavern. Who would ever want to leave?"

"I am going to pretend you didn't say that, Hawke." Varric said and then pointed to the door. "You'd better go see that elf. I suspect you will want to ask him to come with us."

Marian's brow furrowed. "How did you know? Should I... reconsider?"

Varric rubbed his forehead. The conversation was making his head hurt. "No," he was insistent, "It will give you an opportunity to see if you want to take him into the Deep Roads. You know..." Varric rolled his hand forward. "Study his fighting skill up close and personal." _And hopefully do us all a favor and get laid somewhere along the way._

"If you are certain," Marian said, puzzlement lingering in her voice. "It could always wait until morning."

"Goodnight Hawke." Varric stated with a shake of his head. It was definitive enough to leave no room for discussion.

She wiggled her fingers in a goodbye gesture. "Off I go then... to see Fenris."

"Yes," Varric said in a bored tone. "Off you go."

To Varric's relief, Marian walked to the door and opened it. For a mere moment he noticed her hesitation, but like so many times before she raised her chin and held her head high. The Hawke resolve had kicked in.


	3. Chapter 3: Scandulous

Thanks to everyone for your reviews, favorites, alerts and general greatness :D I was pleasantly surprised to find people interested in this story. It's something I write between chapters of Lyrium Ghost, when possessed dwarves get the better of me ;) It's supposed to be my girly story. Every woman needs a girly story! So this is mine :D However, this chapter could have been better. :/ It's not my fault. Varric demands the spotlight. :)

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**Chapter 3: Absolutely, Positively, Scandalous!**

Grace believed her next breath would surely be her last. If she made another mistake, it was certain she would never master Orlesian fine dining and her hopes of marrying a rich noble would be dashed. Spinsterhood and cats would become her future instead of banquets and balls. Grace's delicate hand hovered over a three pronged fork at the left of her plate. She glanced at her grandmother and then back to the table. When there was no indication from Madeline that the fork was appropriate to use during the second course salad, Grace's hand gravitated to a larger, more ornate four pronged fork.

"Ahem." Madeline cleared her throat, but never made eye contact.

Grace immediately withdrew her hand and drifted to the next fork.

Madeline shook her head. "It is the long one on the right, dear." She looked up from her embroidery briefly to see a large pout on Grace's face complete with slumping shoulders and hands lying limp in her lap. _What a face. _Madeline covertly rolled her eyes. _If her father saw this he would surely laugh, but his mother... Maker she would not tolerate this foolish obsession with Orlais. _

"You mustn't put your hands under the table either, love."

Grace sighed with enough intensity to make the folded napkin in the shape of a swan fall over. "Why not?" She asked with the eloquence of a six year old.

"That is considered a very serious transgression in Orlais," Madeline softly spoke. "They would assume that you were going for your dagger in order to assassinate your host."

Lately, Grace had started to feel like she knew her grandmother less and less. Madeline had an in-depth knowledge of Orlesian table etiquette that was so impeccable many nobles sought her instruction before venturing to Orlais. This, Grace had only discovered after asking her mother to pay for an Orlesian tutor. Madeline demonstrated her knowledge of their customs and dining in such a natural manner that Grace believed she must have lived in Orlais at some point. When she inquired, her grandmother simply smiled and continued with their lesson.

"Why don't we retire to the sitting room for some tea?" Madeline said. Her warm and tender smile managed to brighten her granddaughter's sour face. "Those biscuits you like arrived from Kirkwall today. What do you say, dear?"

Grace rose from her seat. She rubbed a few wrinkles out of her dress and primly walked to her grandmother's chair. Madeline smiled up at her granddaughter as she helped her walk from the dining room to her favorite rocker in the green sitting room.

"The roses are in bloom," Madeline said and she pointed to a large white rose bush that had decked their lawn for as long as Grace could remember. "Those are my favorite."

"Do you want me to call for Thalia?" Grace asked. The young woman crossed her legs and studied the flowers in the garden. "She could pick some and bring them in here for you to enjoy."

Madeline sighed. "That won't be necessary dear, besides, I gave Thalia the day off. There was a dress she wished to buy at Mrs. Abshire's shop."

Grace's face contorted in a look of surprise. "How can Thalia afford clothing from that shop? Why, that is where I get my dresses made, grandmother."

This was a moment Madeline was certain she would look back on and remember fondly. "I gave her the money to buy it."

"What? Why would you do such a thing?" Grace placed her hand over her mouth as if what she had just been told was a dirty secret. "She is a servant."

Madeline began to knit a sweater for Thalia's newly born nephew. "Oh, is that why she brings me my tea every morning?"

"Grandmother," Grace scolded. "This is serious."

"Oh I quite agree," Madeline said. Her eyes remained fixed firmly on her knitting.

Grace leaned over and began to whisper. "You cannot give money to every elf that needs it. Already, you have given enough."

"I have, _have I_?" Madeline looked mildly amused but a smidgen annoyed. The elderly woman's eyebrows were drawn together. "Should I consult you, dear next time I wish to make a purchase?"

"Because of you, we have an Elven quarter," Grace gestured in the direction of the location. "Not an alienage, but a whole section of Starkhaven lined with lovely homes for those..."

Madeline lifted her knitting needles and pointed them at her granddaughter. "Not another word or I will make you come to Thalia's party with me."

The young noblewoman's mouth gaped open. "What?" Her eyes widened in alarm. "You are going to a servant's party?" Grace flung her arms up and allowed them to fall heavily onto her lap. "Grandmother, you can barely walk."

"Well, I did suggest we have it here, but Thalia insisted it would be easier for her sister and her baby if it was closer to home." Madeline peered up at her granddaughter and continued speaking as if it were a two way conversation. "And I quite agree."

Grace flopped backwards into her overstuffed chair. "Grandmother, I simply do not know what to think."

"Good, dear, because you think too much. It can mar your complexion." Madeline hid a cheeky smile by keeping her head down and staying focused on her knitting. "Now, please read me some more of that book. I believe we are about to meet the elf."

_I am so confused, thought Grace. _She picked up the book while trying to decide if she had unwittingly participated in a conversation concerning Thalia and her family_. Maker, my grandmother is odd today. Giving money to servants, going to knife-ear parties, what is she thinking? I hope this remains hidden._

"Grace, dear, I am not getting any younger," Madeline said. "Please read."

"As you wish, grandmother," Grace spoke. _I just pray there are no lewd words or overly descriptive moments this time. _

Grace began to read:

"Sister!"Carver yelled to Marian. When she did not answer he raised his voice believing she had not heard him over the noise in the Hanged Man. "Sister!"

Marian ignored her brother's insistent cry and headed to the door at a faster pace.

"Sister... sister... sister!"

Instinctively, and against her better judgment, Marian turned to face her brother. As the eldest, she had often been tasked with helping her mother raise the twins. Now that Carver was the only remaining sibling, she felt the responsibility of his safety weigh heavily on her shoulders. "What, what, what?" she answered.

Carver drifted away from the bar and strutted over to his sister. _Ugggg_... Marian rolled her eyes_. Carver has been trying his luck again. This time with the barmaid Norah, who... Oh Andraste's twisted knickers, is eyeing up his backside. I bet he's been bragging about his 'swordsmanship' and showing off that Maker-awful tattoo again. _

Over the years, Marian had watched her brother grow from a weedy boy who liked to eat bugs and torment small fluffy animals into a muscular teen, and finally, a formidable young man. Unfortunately, his maturity did not synch with his body. For most of her life Marian had been baffled by Carver's attitude, that was, until she met Gamlen, her uncle. If it wasn't for the fact she had been present at the birth of the twins, Marian would have been adamant that Carver was really her uncle's bastard son.

Carver squared his shoulders in his usual pretentious custom and shot his sister a perturbed look. He was a stout lad with large biceps and a wide chest. Several strands of his course black hair stood upright, like a cockerel's comb. But whether his body appealed to women or not, Marian was certain that after a woman had one lengthy conversation with him they would run for the hills and _never_ look back. At least, they would if they had an ounce of sense. Most that he chatted up did not.

"Didn't you hear me when I called for you, sister?" Carver's question sounded like an accusation. "Where are you going?"

_Maker, what did I do in my previous life to deserve him? Why couldn't he be a shy, more introverted brother that likes to sit quietly in the corner and contemplate the meaning of life?_

Marian's expression hardened as she considered her brother. "I think it is safe to say that everyone from the Hanged Man to the Chantry heard you."

"What? Carver said in a thuggish tone. "You too good to associate with me now that you're the bold adventurer and do-gooder?" The loud offhand comment made several of the patrons turn their heads and stare at brother and sister. The unwanted attention embarrassed Marian. Carver was excellent at disturbing the peace.

"And this is exactly why I ignored you," Marian said. She laid her hands on her hips and sighed. "Every time we speak it ends in an argument."

Carver folded his arms over his chest. When he noticed others were staring he gave them a sharp look. They returned to their drinking. "All I wanted to know is where you were going in such a hurry."

_Andraste's tits, this is not something I want to discuss with him. _"I have plans to visit Fenris," Marian simply said. Every muscle in her face strained to remain neutral. Carver was a professional when it came to finding her weaknesses and exploiting them. "I need to go."

"The elf?" Carver bluntly stated. "The one we helped last night with those glowing tattoos and strange voice?" _She's up to something and she's not including me as usual._

_Leave it to Carver to ineloquently describe the finer points of a person. _"Yes, that would be the one," Marian said, "Unless you know another person in this city named Fenris, but of course, your associations are limited to the Blooming Rose."

Carver pointed to the ground and took on an objectionable stance. "You think that's wise? Didn't you see what he did last night?"

"Carver, who exactly in the group do you think failed to miss a man ripping out another man's heart," Marian said and her gestures became highly animated. "The only difference between us and him is that we would have killed the slaver with an arrow or a sword. Fenris is… talented… in different ways and it is not his fault," she hurriedly finished. "Who are we to judge?"

"Fine, whatever," Carver said. "Go play with your pet elf just don't come bitching to me when he puts a hole in your chest."

Marian gave her brother a look that was somewhere between sympathetic and patronizing. "I do not think I will be bitching to anyone if I have a hole in my chest, Carver. The younger brother mumbled an obscenity under his breath and skulked away in an overdramatic fashion. Marian rolled her eyes. _I need a drink._

Outside the Hanged Man, she headed straight for a merchant's stand that sold an assortment of food. _I can eat like royalty tonight after winning twenty silver from Varric. _The stall was almost empty but for a few meat pies and apples. _I wonder if Fenris likes meat pies? Maybe he does not like meat at all? Do elves eat meat?_ In the end she bought two meat pies and four apples. _I guess we will find out._

During her walk from Lowtown to Hightown Marian considered Fenris, who had been on her mind since their meeting. _He is a great warrior from what I have seen; tall and lithe, strong, skilled, fearless... sexy. _The realization hit her like a stone wall. She shook her head and sighed. _I swore I would not let this happen. Mother and Carver must come first. My... infatuations are unimportant. But sweet Maker, you made that elf difficult to ignore._

Keeping her family afloat and her mother hopeful was a burden that she had carried since her father's death many years ago. The responsibility had left little time for anything else, including a social life. _They depend on me, but am I allowed no happiness? Must it all come down to duty?_

Marian kicked a stray pebble to help vent her frustration. It landed in a bush and scared a cat out of its hiding place. _Maker, I cannot even walk down the street without making a commotion. _Fenris started plaguing her thoughts again, their meeting, and the dire circumstances which had led him to seek help.

She had been offered a job by a dwarf named Anso, to recover his lost goods. Later, after her people had raided a small hovel in the alienage and faced numerous slave hunters, they learned that their true employer was Fenris; Anso had simply been a cover.

There were no words Marian could find to adequately describe the first meeting with Fenris. He had emerged from the shadows with the simple silhouette of an elf. But when he walked into the light, it could clearly be seen that he was not an ordinary flavor of maleness.

Marian had immediately drunk in the sight of him. Fenris's hair had been a violent white against the shadowy alienage walls. The unkempt locks spilled down into his face and swept across one eye. He had stared at her with the intensity of a bird of prey, which she still found ironic. Her eyes had eventually been drawn to the space between the elf's metal gauntlets and leather pauldrons. The bare skin of his bicep was etched with white markings that wound along his arms like vines. Since their meeting, she had given considerable thought to how much of his body might be covered in those white vines and exactly where they end.

"Grandmother!" Grace laid the book in her lap and shook her head. "I cannot read this to you." Her small delicate finger accusingly pointed to it. "It is filth and completely unbelievable."

The knitting needles did not stop. "Keep reading dear. It is nothing I haven't heard before and... I quite like the elf. He is _scandalous_," she said in a low whisper.

Grace continued to show her disapproval by making a face that looked like she had just eaten a lemon. Once she was certain her silent protest had been made, she picked up the book and continued to read:

Marian had seen death come in many forms, but when Fenris's glowing gauntleted fist reached into a persistent slave captain's chest and tore out his heart, it had been a new experience. The sinew ripped apart and the sound of squelching muscle had made the bile rise in her throat, especially when she had noticed that the remainder of the heart lay next to the captain's head.

"Honestly," Grace said and then she sighed. "Grandmother this is disgusting."

"Less fuss, more reading, dear," Madeline insisted in a pleasantly light tone. The easy way her grandmother spoke sounded displaced to Grace, considering the subject matter. It was more suited to a chat about flower arranging not a mutilated man. "It will get less gruesome."

"Maker, I hope so." Grace mumbled. She unwillingly continued:

Fenris stepped forward and apologized with enough eloquence to impress a prince. The soft angular lines of his face and his straight body had added to his lofty air. Marian found him a contradiction from that point onwards.

She remembered fondly how his olivine eyes had settled on her face; defiant, piercing, contemplative, and then, unexpectedly he complimented her leadership. Marian had blushed. It was the first compliment she had received in years, and the fact it had been given by a handsome man added to the pleasure of receiving it

After hearing his explanation for the deception, Marian had agreed to help him face his former slave master, Danarius. She learned that Danarius was a magister of the Tevinter Imperium, a man in a position of extreme power, but one that she would be willing to kill.

They met Fenris in Hightown to stand with him so he would not need to fight alone. Nothing had come of it except a battle with shades and an empty mansion. Fenris had acted poorly after the fight, but Marian could not find it in her heart to remain angry. In her life she had faced many trials, but rarely alone. There was always a mother and loving father willing to help when it was possible. Fenris, she believed was the epitome of alone. Marian was determined to become his friend and if the opportunity presented itself, flirt along the way.

It surprised her to find that she had arrived at the dilapidated mansion's doorstop. Her thoughts had been all consuming_. _

Marian knocked on the worn mansion door. There was no reply. _That is not really unexpected. I would not answer the door either if I had a magister of Tevintar wanting to skin me alive. _She peered into the nearest window. Darkness greeted her eyes, and with no sign of life, fear started to eat away at her thoughts. _What if... Marian you are an idiot! Someone should have stayed with him through the night and helped him keep watch. _

"Hawke?" a deep familiar voice asked. "May I help you?"

The startled Fereldan whirled around half scared out of her wits and stumbled. She found the handle to the mansion door in time to keep from falling. "Maker," Marian said breathless. Her hand moved to cover her heart. "You frightened me, Fenris." _Did I really almost fall flat on my ass? _

Fenris noticed Marian's highly tinged cheeks. "Are you... well? You seem to be unsteady on your feet."

_Wonderful. He thinks I am ill. _Marian corrected her posture and brushed away pretend dust to deflect from her embarrassment. "I am fine, Fenris."

"I see," Fenris replied with an air of disbelief. "Do you require my assistance?"

"I... no... I mean yes. It is complicated." _Maker, if you are merciful please kill me right now._

He appeared to be amused. "Oh? Maybe we should finish this conversation inside." Fenris leaned over Marian in order to open the door. He was close enough for her to feel the heat of his body and smell his scent; a mixture of leather, wine and the outdoors. "Please, enter."

_He is charming for a brutal killer. _Marian walked into the foyer to find the dead bodies from the previous night's escapades piled in a large mound_. Maybe I should reconsider the charming part._

Marian pointed to the dead people. "Are you doing a spring clean, then?

Fenris kicked a stray metal helm towards the pile. "This mansion does require some upkeep," he said and a wry smirk crept onto his lips. "I did consider leaving the bodies to ward off intruders, but the putrid smell of rotting flesh is not something I wish to endure."

She studied the floor and the many loose tiles. "I could set some traps for you, that is, unless you are going to have the floor retiled. They would be easy enough to hide in this..." She curled her lip at the mushrooms growing in the corner, "area." _This is worse than Gamlen's hovel, which is quite an accomplishment._

He inclined his head in appreciation. "Thank you. I... may enlist your help at a later date if there are unforeseen problems." Fenris held out his hand and gestured towards the grand staircase. "Come with me, Hawke."

Marian followed Fenris up the stairs. She tried to imagine what the mansion must have looked like before it had become a decaying cesspit. The place retained some of its grandeur. There were ornate pieces of furniture still in useable condition, large gilded mirrors, marble fireplaces, and as she recalled, a library full of books. _Maker, how I would love to borrow a book. The only piece of literature I have found in Gamlen's hovel involves picture of big breasted women devoid of clothing. _

Fenris opened the door to what used to be the magister's bedroom. The room was lit by the light of the fire and two solitary candles. Above, Marian's eyes were drawn to the large hole in the ceiling; he would be exposed to the elements. _That has to be the least of his worries, still... he will catch a chill. _ The position of his bed baffled Marian. It was not far from the hole in the ceiling, yet there were other places in the room that would offer more protection.

"Do you need help moving your bed?" Marian asked. She watched Fenris take a seat in an old tapestry upholstered chair. He gestured to the chair opposite and Marian was seated. "If you leave it there you might find yourself under a rain cloud in the middle of night." _Hmmmm, Fenris soaked, wet... glistening_. Marian mentally sighed_. What is wrong with me?_

A slight smirk formed on his lips. Fenris glanced over at his bed and then back to Marian. "Your concern for my bed is most admirable, but I prefer to leave it where it is." The smile wilted into a thin line and his face became pensive. "I enjoy the stars," he whispered.

_I like the brooding, but I was hoping to see some of the other faces he is capable of making. _"Do they not have stars in Tevinter?" Marian chided. She was desperate to see him smile.

Fenris peered up at the hole in the ceiling. The night was clear and a spray of stars had peeked out from behind the clouds. "Of course," he answered and for a brief moment his face lifted. "It was one pleasure that could never be denied a slave. They are there for all to see and enjoy."

_There is so much depth to this man. It was plainly obvious last night that he is unique in more ways than one. _"That is a lovely thought," Marian said and she found her eyes looking up through the hole and admiring the view.

A faint blush painted Fenris's cheeks. He quickly changed subjects. "We did not get a chance to speak last night."

_Did he... is he blushing? I did that without even trying? Maybe I can do it again. _

"Last night was quite grueling but... _worth it_." Marian flirtatiously said. The look on Fenris's face remained unchanged. _Maker, I am bad at this._ _It is simply depressing to think my little brother is more successful at flirting than me. Fenris hasn't looked at my breasts once._

Fenris ran his hand through his hair and shifted his weight. Marian tried not to openly stare at his moving bicep but failed. When Fenris returned her scrutiny, she became avidly interested in the fireplace.

"I would like to become more familiar with you and your companions since we will be traveling together," Fenris said in a stale tone. "In my position you can never be too careful."

_He is so sensible and logical. It is such a nice change from Carver. _"Ask me anything you like," Marian pleasantly replied.

Fenris raised an eyebrow. "_Anything_?" If she did not know better Marian would have taken it as a playful challenge.

_Is he... flirting? It has to be wishful thinking on my part. But still... the way he said it. _She decided to test her theory. "Anything," she said in a low seductive voice.

Fenris's head tilted to the side as he studied Marian. "Do you need a drink?" A pitcher of water was within arm's reach. He looked at it and then back to Marian.

The question had pulled Marian out of her flirtatious revelry_. _"What? Why do you think I need a drink?"

"You sound hoarse and though I am unaccustomed to entertaining guests, I would be hospitable."

Marian wanted to curl up into the fetal position and whimper when she realized her sultry whisper had been mistaken for a dry throat. She forced a cough. "Maybe later," she said, feeling a little defeated.

"As you wish," Fenris said. He shifted in his seat. "I know you are from Ferelden, but little else."

"Oh," The sudden change in conversation had come as a surprise. A much needed diversion from her disastrous attempts at flirting. "Yes, my family came to Kirkwall to flee the Blight. Along the way I met Aveline, the red-headed woman that accompanied us last night."

"She is very proficient with sword and shield. I was impressed," Fenris said. "Carver also accompanied us. He is your brother, correct?"

"Unfortunately," Marian said. Fenris chuckled at her blatant admission. The sound had lifted the little dark rain cloud above her head away. His voice reminded Marian of a rich red wine and she found her eyes drawn to where the words formed. "He can be trying."

Fenris awarded her with one of his rare half smiles. "You... do not get along then?"

_I am not making a good impression. It's not my fault Carver is an ass, but he is still family on the days I don't disown him. _"We tolerate each other. I do love my brother, but Carver is... headstrong."

Fenris read between the lines. "Reckless?"

"Yes," Marian stated without hesitation. "He feels entitled. I really do not mean to paint him in a bad light. He can do that all by himself." Fenris smiled at her comment. "But, honestly, he does have his own fine qualities."

"I am sure those qualities will become apparent in due time." Fenris said. They shared a small smile. It lingered for longer than was comfortable and with a forced cough, Fenris carried on. "This dwarf, Varric, I have not had many dealings with dwarves. Is he trustworthy?"

_Dwarves and money go hand in hand. It makes sense that he would wonder about Varric. For all Fenris knows, he might tell the Carta there is a huge bounty on his head. _"You do not need fear Varric," Marian smiled. "He won't sell you out, but he might ask you too many questions."

"I do not understand," Fenris said.

"Neither do I," Marian retorted and grinned. "He likes to tell stories."

Fenris's head bowed slightly and then he peered upwards at Marian looking for any sign of deceit. "Stories?"

"Yes," Marian said. "Varric likes to tell stories to the patrons at the Hanged Man. People pay to listen and he is rather ruthless when it comes to details. If he finds you interesting do not be surprised to hear your name on the lips of every person in Lowtown. He will either make you a hero or the most contagious leper to ever hit the streets of Kirkwall. Carver falls into the latter category."

"I see," Fenris said. "I will have to make certain that every word that leaves my lips is carefully chosen."

_His lips... _Marian found that she was undressing him with her eyes. When he observed her observing him too closely, she pretended to suddenly become interested in her fingernails. After what felt like an hour of torture, she was brave enough to peer up, only to find that his eyes were still fixed on her face. _Maker, those eyes are sharper than any weapon. I feel naked and so vulnerable. How does he do that with a single look?_

Marian was the first to look away. Elves were a common sight in Lothering and especially in Kirkwall. None of them had ever commanded her attention or made her wish that she were suddenly a foot shorter and pointy eared. In truth, she had never met an elf she considered attractive. But Fenris had her enraptured from the moment they had met. Even though it was against her better judgment, she hoped the attraction was mutual.

"Would you be interested in accompanying me to Sundermount tomorrow?" Marian asked. It had taken considerable effort to finally say the words. "Before you answer, you must know that it will be a two day hike."

Fenris considered the statement. "As I said before, I am at your service, but if I may ask, who else will be joining us on this..."

"I will not lie, it is a strange task I have to perform," Marian shook her head and looked up at the ceiling as if it could offer a better explanation. "Honestly, Fenris trouble seems to find me no matter where I go."

He sniggered. "I have only known you a short time, Hawke, but already I can tell that you are an extraordinary woman. My only regret is that I did not find Anso sooner."

_Maker, I know I must be blushing like a virgin in a whorehouse right about now. He called me extraordinary. Until now, the best compliment I ever received was from Danny Hartley, and all he could say is that I had a nice pair of tits. Everything Fenris says sounds eloquent and effortless. _

Marian's face was turned down. Smiling at the floor was less intimidating than a tall, dark and broody elf. "I... well Carver," she blurted out, "Varric and Aveline will be joining us on this merry quest."

"Merry is not a word I would associate with Sundermount," Fenris said. His once placid face had slightly darkened. Marian could tell he was swimming in unpleasant thoughts. She found that his moods were as changeable as autumn. "But I will gladly accompany if that is your wish."

"Then it is settled," Marian said. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Come to my uncle's house any time before the Chantry bell rings eleven." Marian stood. _Mother has probably torn her hair out from worry. This was supposed to be a short visit. Maker, it's not my fault._ "If you change your mind please send word."

Fenris bowed his head in acknowledgement of her request. While he was not looking, Marian admired his long white locks in the candlelight. The length of his hair reminded her of the men in her mother's romance novels. When she was a young girl she would sneak into her parent's room and pick the lock on the chest at the end of the bed. Inside, she found several books her mother kept hidden away. Marian would read as many pages as possible before being summoned. Some pages she knew by heart. Those were the ones she was certain her mother would not be happy to know she had read.

_If Fenris were only named Drake or Quinn I would be living 'Release the Chains'. That was an excellent book and... as I recall, Quinn killed his slave master in the end. I wonder if I can find a copy of it at the bookseller in Lowtown? Maker knows no one would sell that sort of thing in Hightown._

Marian and Fenris descended the stairs in silence. It wasn't until she was almost out of the door that Marian realized she still had the meat pie and apples in her pouch.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Marian opened the pouch and rummaged around inside. "Here." She handed Fenris a meat pie wrapped in cloth and two apples. "I bought food for us to enjoy while we chatted, but as usual, I got carried away."

A sad thin-lipped smile pulled Fenris's lips taught as he stared down at the food in his hands. When he looked back up at Marian, she was certain that for a mere second he looked like he might shed a tear.

_I knew elves did not like meat! _Marian sighed. _Look what you have done, woman. You have offended that poor man with your slaughtered cow pastry pie. I suspect it is too late to apologize. Maybe I can salvage this situation._

"I wasn't sure what you liked so I bought both fruit and meat," Marian pointed to the apples to emphasize she had considered he may not like meat. "Maybe tomorrow you can tell me your favorite food. I..." she brightly smiled, "can make certain that whatever it is goes into your pack."

"Thank you," Fenris said. The words were spoken with some effort. "This is appreciated."

He opened the door for Marian and once again assured her that the food was well received. When the door shut, Fenris stared at the food with longing. It had been two days since he had eaten.


	4. Chapter 4: Carver's Big Mouth

Hello out there! Thank you very much for the favs, reviews and alerts. You are extremely kind people.

I don't know what to say about this story. I guess I'm writing it more for me first and to share second this time around. Perhaps, to torture people who unwittingly happen upon it ;) Ah well, compulsive writing syndrome.

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**Chapter 4: Carver's Big Mouth**

Grace finished the last sentence of the page and was about to add her own commentary when she noticed her grandmother's eyes were closed. Ashamedly, she stared at her chest to see if she was still breathing.

_What a peculiar book, _Grace thought as she studied the faded text_. Not only is the author crude but he has included his own person in the story. Grandmother said that this is a romance novel, but how can that be? The woman, Marian Hawke, lacks gentrification and civility. She gambles, swears, associates with a lewd dwarf and wishes to become friends with an ex-slave_. She huffed at the leather bound cover_. I simply cannot see the appeal of this literary nonsense._

A small puff of dust rose into the sunlight as Grace flipped through the pages. The word 'breasts' on page 205 caught her attention. _Surely not. _

_The calloused pad of his thumb circled_ _her nipple and teased it until it hardened. His sodden lips traced the outline of her soft luscious..._

_Maker! _Grace skimmed the length of the page and noted that the writing was vivid and left little to the imagination. _Grandmother read this? _The young noblewoman was horror-stricken. _But she is my grandmother! _Grace read the page again. She told herself it was to ensure that she had not misinterpreted the words. It was most definitely not for pleasure. She looked to her sleeping grandmother, back to the book, and again to make certain her grandmother still slept. Grace, to her shame, folded the corner of the page to mark it for later reading.

She placed the book on the side table. _I am not reading this. It is unbecoming of a woman of my station. _Grandmother Madeline shifted in her chair. The movement drew Grace's attention. Through the years the one constant in her life had been her grandmother. She was there to counter her mother's emotional immaturity. Grace was reminded of this and her grandmother's many kindnesses as she considered never reading a page of the book again. _Breaking my promise to her would bring me the most shame. She would not insist I read this... romance novel, if it can be called such, unless it held some meaning. _Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the cover of the leather bound book. _It would seem that Marian Hawke and I are going to become well acquainted, whether I wish it or not. _Grace picked up the book and began to read once again.

Marian studied her reflection in the small cracked mirror above the wash basin. The absence of natural light made it nearly impossible for her to fret over every blemish on her face. She could not clearly see them but she knew they were there, those things that she had detested and cursed since she was thirteen: the freckles. Leandra, her mother, had insisted they were charming, especially on a woman with dark hair. Marian had gone to her father, Malcolm many times and asked if there was a spell he could cast to remove them. He had simply laughed and told her that she was beautiful.

Grace smiled at the paragraph. She too had freckles and understood why Marian would want to hide them. In Orlais they were considered unsightly and best disguised by the finest makeup available. _Grandmother says they make me unique, but how am I to accept her word? She has never paid much attention to fashion, nor do I suspect she understands fully the plight of being a minor noble in the most prestigious university in all of Thedas. _She stopped fretting over her dire circumstances long enough to continue reading.

Vanity was a luxury Marian could not afford. The freckles would remain on display and unconquered until she had the money to mask them.

_Perhaps, _Marian turned her face side to side, checking one last time to see if there was a particular flaw she could obsess over, _Elves find freckles attractive or adorable or, _she sighed_, they consider them repulsive. Maker... I should be sharpening my arrows, not pinching my cheeks to turn them blush colored. _

"Marian?" She heard her mother call. "Are you decent?"

"What is it, mother?" Marian asked. She continued to study her hair and skin. "Did you find Uncle Gamlen with one of his "friends" again?"

Since living with her uncle, Marian had become accustomed to his deplorable habits. He gambled away every sovereign he owned, visited the whorehouse and asked for a freebie, and when that did not work, he lured the odd disenchanted drunken woman back to his hovel.

"There is…" Leandra began to say, hesitant and with effort, "An Elven gentleman here to see you. I... let him in and he is waiting for you... in there... near the door."

_So, mother has met Fenris. What I would have given to see their first encounter. Maker, she looks terrified but, yet... _Marian bit back a smile_. She is intrigued. I guess mother and I are attracted to danger._

"Thank you, mother," Marian said in a reassuring voice. It did nothing to soothe the alarmed look on Leandra's face. If anything, it grew when she noticed her daughter had taken more time than usual over her appearance. "Has Varric or Aveline arrived?"

Leandra did not answer immediately, her eyes fixated on Marian's cheeks. "That man Anders is here, but not Aveline or Varric. She brushed a hair away from Marian's face and scrutinized her appearance. "Did you purchase some rouge from the market?"

"Anders? What is he doing here?" Marian inquired as she placed a dagger in her belt. "No, I did not buy rouge. That would be a luxury and…" She pointed to her mother's ratty slippers. "As you can see, we are full out of luxuries."

"I guess you are simply flushed," Leandra said, disbelief evident in each word. "You should see to your _friend_ before Gamlen awakens."

_Why does she keep saying the word 'friend' like it is a dirty word? _ Marian mentally sighed._ Mother knows. Honestly, I can keep nothing from that woman. _"Yes," she said in a contrary voice, "Gamlen does need his beauty sleep."

Leandra rolled her eyes. "I would rather not start the morning with an incident, Marian," she said. "If it were our home, I would gladly welcome your _friend_."

_There she goes again with the "friend" reference. Maker, she has done this with every boy I have brought home, even the ones that I had absolutely no intention of getting to know in that "way". _ Marian rubbed her forehead._ Shit, now I am insinuating insinuations. When did I start thinking like my mother?_

"Point taken, mother. I will head out with Carver and Fenris after we have eaten breakfast." Marian walked into the great room to find Fenris hovering near the door. Leandra followed close behind and audibly sighed every step of the way.

Marian's eyes fixed on Fenris and wandered over his body. She blushed when she realized he had noticed. _He still looks as good as he did yesterday. _Fenris straightened his back when the women entered. What had once been a perfectly relaxed man was now something reminiscent of an animal trapped in a cage looking for a way out.

"Good morning, Fenris," Marian greeted in a cheerful voice. He nodded but said nothing. When she finally stopped ogling Fenris, certain that her expression had given away her lust, she noticed that Carver and Anders were sitting at the table devouring pancakes. _Anders? What is he doing here? _"Sit down and have some breakfast." She gestured to an empty seat next to Carver. It was not her preferred choice but Carver was the lesser of two evils. Fenris had not made Anders' acquaintance, but she was certain that once the elf knew he was eating with a possessed mage, it would raise uncomfortable questions. "We always eat before we leave."

Fenris simply nodded. He had been waiting on the landing to the hovel since sunrise for Hawke to emerge. It never occurred to him to knock. There was, in his mind, an unwritten rule that said that he was not welcome inside the home of a human family. Eventually, the door had finally opened, but when he looked up, it was Leandra, not Hawke who greeted him, as if clenching one's heart and opening one's mouth to silently scream could be called such.

Marian smiled when she saw Fenris hesitate. "Sit, or there will be nothing left to eat. Carver and Anders have rather," she raised an eyebrow toward the two men, "ravenous appetites."

Carver acknowledged Fenris with a face full of indifference. He continued to eat his breakfast with the gusto of a starving man. Anders, however, had taken a keen interest in the elf. Marian sat a plate of pancakes in front of Fenris and, to her brother's annoyance, plucked the honey from his hand.

Fenris had considered the apples and meat pie that Hawke had given him the previous night a wonderful gift, but honey and pancakes? They were equivalent to the best finery Hightown had to offer as far as he was concerned. Fenris began to wonder when his luck would end. Could anyone be this generous and not expect some horrible favor in return? He waited until Marian was seated across from him before taking his first bite. It was… divine. Sweets, he had always craved, but they were usually denied unless Danarius offered to share. When he stole food he would choose the one coated in honey or icing before bread or meat. It gave him a quick shot of energy that was often needed, especially when he was on the run.

Marian noticed Leandra and Anders studying Fenris's tattoos, though they tried to hide their wayward observations with quick sideways glances. Food had Fenris's attention. The world could do as it pleased as long as he had a pancake to eat.

"I've got a tattoo," Carver said out of the blue. "We got them before we were sent to Ostagar."

Marian closed her eyes, horrorstricken by her brother's lack of sensitivity. When she died and met the Maker she would make certain to ask if the point of Carver's existence was to punish her for something she did in her past life.

Fenris placed his knife and fork together and wiped his mouth with his napkin before answering Carver's inane question. Both Leandra and Marian were impressed by his manners.

"You have a… tattoo?" Fenris whispered. The restraint he showed surprised Marian. It had become obvious that he did not like it when people pointed out his differences without consideration for his feelings. That was the crux of his entire existence, being different. She had warned Fenris about Carver. Hopefully, he would take pity on the stupid beast.

"Do you want to see it? It's a Mabari." Carver had a twinkle in his eye. "I can make it bark."

For a mere second Marian worried what Fenris would say. He looked to her and saw the apology written across her face. "I will pass," Fenris said.

"Maker's breath, Carver!" Marian said and she rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I am sorry, Fenris. That's just Carver's inept attempt at making friends." She ignored the random swear words her brother mumbled under his breath. "He can't identify with Aveline because she has tits, but you've got a sword, tattoos and all the same parts. Yes," She smiled when Fenris covered his laugh with a cough. "Carver is that basic."

Those present at the table waited for Carver's inevitable outburst, but he did not get the opportunity to complain. Gamlen announced his presence with a stomp of his boots.

"Elves, dwarves, apostates… what's next? The bloody Quanari?" Gamlen asked. "I told you to stop bringing these kinds of people into my house."

Marian looked to Fenris. "You will have to forgive my sweet Uncle Gamlen. He doesn't like anything smarter than him."

"Mark my words, girl." Gamlen pointed his finger at Marian. "One day this is all going to come back to bite you on the ass."

"No more than the rats running around in your hovel, I suspect." Anders grumbled back. "At least she is doing something positive with her life."

Gamlen scoffed. "Don't you dare talk to me like that you bloody apostate," he spat. "I would turn you in to the templars if I didn't fear they would lock me away too."

After Gamlen's revelation that Anders was a mage on the run, Marian noticed that Fenris had stopped eating. He was eyeing her instead of his food. Marian gave him a quick, guilty smile and sprang from her chair.

"Yes, well," Marian hurriedly said. "We should be off."

"I'm not done eating yet," Carver said. "Still have three pancakes left."

Her eyes roamed the room and brightened when they noticed five packs lined up against the wall. "There they are." Fenris, she noticed, was now standing at the door. It occurred to her that he may be reconsidering the offer of his help. "Think fast," she said and threw the pack to Fenris. He caught it with ease.

"What... is this?" Fenris asked. He studied the cheap leather pack as if it may bight back. Hawke had thrown it across the room like a pillow, which surprised Fenris considering the bulk and weight of it. "Do you want me to carry this for you?"

Leandra looked up from her plate. "Marian, please do not throw things in the house. You might break something, dear."

"Like the chipped plates and cups?" Marian winked at Fenris. "What a travesty." His expression remained unchanged and her heart dropped. She had intended to tell him about Anders on the way to Sundermount before the two met.

"Marian," Leandra scolded in a well practiced manner. "They may be somewhat beaten around the edges but they are Gamlen's and we should be respectful of his property."

_Marian? _ Fenris realized he had not heard Hawke's proper name spoken until now_. That is a lovely name for a... _

The tight fitting leather and hide armor hugged her hips and breasts, accentuating her femininity rather than her battle honed muscles. But, after seeing her fight, a person would be a fool to think that her curves defined her abilities. Shooting an arrow through a man's eyeball at fifty paces was not a trait Fenris associated with women who held afternoon tea parties and crocheted doilies.

_What is wrong with afternoon tea parties and crocheting doilies? _Grace thought._ What would a slave know of civility anyway? _Her shoulders shimmied and she sank further down into the overstuffed chair. She began to read once again.

No, this woman was more than her appearance and that was something he could appreciate. For all his discipline, Fenris could not deny his attraction. _Marian is a fitting name, _he decided.

"I am sorry your pack is dark purple, Fenris" Marian gestured to it with her head. "If it offends your sensibilities you can have mine."

"You bought that from Howard the tailor didn't you? What is it with him lately?" Carver asked. "He's been dying everything these strange Maker awful colors and then selling them at a discount. I bought a pair of socks from him the other day, got a good deal too, except one was blue and the other, pink." He took a large bite of his pancake and continued to talk with a full mouth. "My boots cover them though, so I guess it doesn't matter."

Marian beamed a wicked grin at Carver "Ah well, colorful socks for such a colorful personality. I suppose it is fitting, though..." She tapped her finger against her lips seeming to carefully consider her thoughts. "If the socks were really supposed to be a reflection of your personality, I would go with brown next time."

"Shut it sister."

Gamlen crossed his arms over his chest. Ripe disgust - the kind people show when someone has passed horrendous amount of bodily gas - adorned his face. "I thought you were leaving?"

"We are, uncle," Marian said, her defiance deflated by the thought that Fenris would most likely tell her he was no longer interested in traveling to Sundermount. She handed Carver his pack and grabbed the remaining two. "I thought Aveline and Varric would be here by now."

Anders gently removed one of the packs from Marian's hands. "Varric asked me to take Aveline's place, something to do with guard duty," he said and added a smile. "I am sorry, I forgot to mention it."

_Shit. _Marian smiled back at the mage with a lack of true feeling. Anders failed to notice, but Fenris had been watching with avid interest._ Well, if there was any chance that Fenris wants to go, I am certain he will try and find an excuse to leave now. Damn it, Aveline. Why do you have to be so responsible_? She considered, for the briefest moment, telling Anders that she no longer required his assistance. But she didn't have the heart, given that the mage reminded her of a big, misunderstood teddy bear.

"I appreciate your help," Marian replied to Anders. Her eyes drifted to Fenris. The elf tried to pretend that he was intrigued by the contents of his empty coin purse. But his eyes strayed to Marian and he noticed her tinged cheeks. "We should be off."

_She told me that she consorted with apostates. I did not consider the ramifications of that statement before I agreed to offer my services. _Fenris watched Marian gather the rest of her belongings while he considered the situation._ I promised to repay my debt and I will, but I never promised I would do so gladly. This is simply a job and I would be wise remember that._

Marian kissed her mother on the cheek and headed for the door. She deliberately avoided eye contact with Fenris.

"I will be back in four days." Marian gave Leandra a confident smile. The tears started to well in her mother's eyes.

"Both of you be careful," Leandra said. "I will worry until you return."

Marian paused before exiting. "Love you, mother." The door closed quietly before Leandra could respond. Marian was certain that her mother was already crying.

"Fenris," Marian said as she descended the stairs. "Could I speak with you for a moment?"

"Of course," Fenris said.

Marian waited until Carver and Anders were out of earshot. She played with a silver ring on her index finger as she spoke, a nervous habit she had picked up from her father.

"Do you still wish to travel with us?" Marian finally managed to ask. _Show no emotion, _she thought_. _"I understand if you do not."

Fenris stared down at her, his eyes as intense as the blinding sun, and for the first time he noticed that Hawke appeared to be nervous. "If that is what you wish, then yes."

"It is not about what I wish, Fenris," Marian said. She had found her confidence again. "I do not want you to travel to Sundermount with me if you are angry that Anders is now in my company."

_She is… concerned that I am angry? Why does she care_? He had to look away_. Who has ever cared?_

He pushed his melancholy emotions to the side and thought, for the second time in his life, about what he really wanted. The first had been his freedom. _I owe her a debt and I will repay it._

He hesitated. "I would like to accompany you to Sundermount if you have need of me. But, I would know more of this mage."

Marian smiled, "Thank you Fenris," she said, her voice lighter than it had been. "There will be ample time to discuss Anders along the way. I…" _How do I explain Justice? _"I have to warn you that you are not going to like what I have to say, but I hope you can refrain from strangling him to death."

"I promise nothing," Fenris said and he smirked like he had the night before and Marian felt the heat rise in her cheeks. "For you, I will endeavor to be more tolerant." The scowl at the end of the sentence was not very reassuring, but Marian understood.

_This should prove to be the most interesting adventure yet, _she thought_. If I am lucky he will not kill Anders before we return, and if I am unlucky we will have to dig a big hole._

Marian walked beside Fenris, contemplating what it meant to be infatuated with a man she hardly knew, and Fenris walked beside Marian, contemplating what it meant to trust someone for more than a day_. _Together, they made for the Hanged Man.

8


	5. Chapter 5: Lost in Paradise

Hello all! Thank you so much for your support, reviews, alerts, favs! I appreciate it as always :D

I don't know why, but I was able to complete this chapter in record time. I'm usually a very slow writer. But here it is. I hope you enjoy. By the way, Lyrium Ghost II is being written. :D Fenris is cooperating for once in his own special elfy way.

**Chapter 5: Lost in Paradise**

* * *

Marian raised an inquisitive eyebrow in Anders' direction. The mage answered it, his face sharing her sentiment of concern; something was wrong.

"It's never this quiet, Hawke." Anders was hunched over as his eyes strained to see through the deep shadows. "I hope you are prepared for trouble."

_Anders is always the optimist_, thought Marian. _But, he is probably right_. _We are once again headed into a deep pile of manure. I wonder what it will be this time. Raiders, slavers, marauders or maybe, if we're really lucky, it will be a blood mage who is a part-time slaver when he is not being a marauding raider. Whose idea was it to come into this cave anyway? _Marian sighed_. Carver's idea. I actually listened to my little brother? Oh, that's right! I did it to get him to stop bitching because (_she heard Carver's whiney voice in her head)_ he never gets to make any decisions._

Varric pointed to a dilapidated door. "Since when do caves have doors? We should check it out."

_And my ever-faithful dwarf makes the first astute observation of the day, _Marian thought. The exposed chest hair never failed to impress. Malcolm, her father, had been blessed with a body full of hair and a nice beard on occasion when he was trying disguise his appearance from the templars. But it was nothing compared to Varric. Exposing those curly chest locks had to be a sin in the eye of the Maker. They were too thick and luscious for a mere mortal to see.

"All or nothing, Varric" Marian said. She gave him her best cheeky smile. "We are adventurers, remember?"

Varric rubbed his bristles. A fleck of dust had entered his eye and the constant watering had made it difficult to focus on Hawke. Thankfully, the sway of her hips was hard to miss and it had kept him on the straight and narrow. _The swoosh of those shapely titans makes me wish I were three foot taller. _Varric could not see, but his eyelid movies were clear.

"Yeah, yeah, adventurers," Varric said. He wiped his eyes with his clean glove, the one that he reserved for Bianca's trigger. "I can't see a damn thing. Every time we fight I get a shitload of dust in my eyes."

Carver chimed in. "If you weren't so short that probably wouldn't happen, dwarf."

"It beats being tall and stupid," Varric quipped. "Let's get this over with before I'm forced to shoot junior in the ass."

Marian unsheathed her composite bow from its scabbard. Varric, even half blind, could see the bow's sexy curves and brown berry wood. It was exotic and shapely and oh so deadly.

Marian sighed. "Do any of you ever feel like we are being controlled by some unknown force? Like a puppet on a string. Or is that just me?"

None of her companions replied.

"It's just me then."

Prowling through the city late at night and engaging in deadly battles was becoming the norm for Marian Hawke. The sun was at its peak when they found the cave just beyond the outskirts of Kirkwall. Carver had spotted it and he was determined they check it out. Marian had argued that it was the perfect place for bandits, thieves, mercenaries and spiders to hide. Carver, equipped with that knowledge, was adamant that it would be a quick way to score some coin. They would be in and out and richer before the hour was over, so he had said. Three hours and four groups of bandits later not a single sovereign jingled in their purses. The situation was becoming all too familiar.

Varric, Fenris, Carver and Anders took up a defensive position behind Marian. She turned around and stared at them.

"How did I get thrust into the role of leader?" Marian tapped her foot. The others avoided direct eye contact.

"You're the bossiest." Carver insisted. "And you're the eldest, so get on with it then, sister."

"Alright, I'll be the leader." Marian grumbled. "But if I screw up I don't want to hear any bitching."

The cave door was slightly ajar. Marian made a hand signal and the group stopped. _This is going to go wrong, _she thought_._ _Nothing we do is ever this easy. _She placed an arrow on the bow's flax string and drew it. _Alright, here goes nothing_. Her small delicate foot pushed the door open. The inside was no more inviting than the outside. A splintered table and a dim lantern were the only furnishings, and the table was half covered in dirt. _Charming._

Marian pointed to two barrels. Her companion's eyes were drawn to them. Varric shrugged. The rogue had experience with traps, he was damn good at finding them, but the lighting was poor and he could see no sign of tampering.

_Yes, noncommittal shrugs are so helpful, Varric_. _Let's hope I have all of my limbs after this. _Marian used her head to gesture towards the door. They were going to risk springing a trap.

_Damn, Hawke's giving me that look, _thought Varric_. This can't be good. _He placed his finger on his crossbow trigger. Over the last month, the dwarf had put his faith in the archer. She was deadly, beautiful and had a great sense of humor. There was a commander in her, the type of person who did not demand respect but gradually earned it through hard work and commitment. He had observed that those who entered her company eventually sought her approval. It was odd considering she was not one to readily judge a person or admonish them if they screwed up. That was a fortunate trait since most of the people in her company tended to be less than perfect. _Perhaps, _Varric thought_, that is why gaining her trust feels like an achievement. _

Marian kicked the door open. _Maker, I just know this is a trap_. The barrels exploded and she went reeling backwards.

Varric fondled his earring. It was a nervous habit. _She's not going to be happy with me when she gets up. Ouch, she's landed on her bow. I wonder if Anders can heal it._

Anders, the tall blonde apostate mage ran to Marian's side. Healing was something that had always come easy to him, unlike women. He knelt down and began checking for wounds. "Are you alright, Hawke? Does anything hurt?" Anders trailed his blue glowing fingers down Marian's arm.

Marian rubbed her shoulder and checked her body. "Just my ass." She looked between her legs. "Andraste's bouncing breasts! I broke my bow!"

Carver noticed the overzealous use of Ander's hands. _Maker, he will use any excuse to touch my sister. I hate that mage and the creepy thing inside of him. Father would have sent him packing. _

"Hawke, we have company!" Fenris shouted. A group of thugs came running towards the broody luminous man. He had managed to hold two off, but the others flooded the room. "I need help here!"

Marian jumped to her feet and drew her daggers. They weren't her preferred weapons but her bow was little more than expensive, well maintained, exotic kindling. Carver came to her aid. His two-handed sword had been unsheathed and was towering high over everyone in the room.

_I just know he is compensating for something_, thought Marian.

Anders, being a mage, was a ranged combatant. He along with Varric took up a defensive position behind the brother and sister. Marian ordered them to fire while she, Carver and Fenris engaged in close combat.

Two men were turned into human popsicles by Anders. Marian had seen her father do the same spell when Lothering was attacked by raiders, but it never failed to impress. The blade of her daggers made contact with the thick ice. The first strike always gave the most resistance, but the second was deadly. They plowed through the rest of the untrained thugs without receiving injury.

Marian kicked a frozen limb out of her way. "I just knew this was going to be a pain in the ass!" She watched the rest of the limbs skate across the cave floor. "Why did I listen to Carver."

Carver turned around. "Well there it is," he declared loud enough for anyone in the cave and the outlying vicinity to hear. "When you screw up no one says anything, but the first time I do, it's the most Maker awful thing since bramble pie."

"Keep your britches on, junior." Varric said. "It's pretty much a given that nothing is going to be easy." He ignored Carver's stance that resembled a child stomping their feet and turned his mind to the contents of the room. "So, there's," he counted, "four chests. Looks like a decent score even if it cost Hawke her eyebrows."

Marian's eyes looked up and her fingers quickly brushed against her brows. When she found they were intact she became annoyed. "Varric!" she yelled. "That wasn't funny."

"I was just shitting you," Varric laughed. "It was worth it just to see that 'oh fuck' expression on your face." His attention swiftly moved to a small unopened chest at the end of the room. Varric gave it the once over. "It doesn't look trapped."

"Are you sure, Varric?" Hawke remarked in a condescending tone. "I wouldn't want anyone to get hurt."

Varric rubbed the spiky bristles on his chin. _She doesn't forgive and forget easy does she?_ _I've known many humans in my life but this one is especially complicated. What have you gotten yourself into, Varric? _

"I'll open it then." Varric said.

It was then Marian noticed the tripwire. "Varric don't!" The dwarf had seen it and stopped in time, but Carver had come barreling through, intent on being the first to open it. An explosion rocked the cave and a thundering rumble followed. Fenris reacted, his lightning reflexes kicked in before the others had yet to take a breath. He did not think or hesitate and went straight for Marian. Later, his decision would prove to be the changing point in his life.

The cave wall collapsed, cutting the groups off from each other. Marian and Fenris lay on the ground on one side and Varric, Carver and Anders on the other. When the dust settled, Marian arose, coughing away the dust from her lungs. Her thoughts immediately turned to her brother, Carver. The person she found was Fenris, unconscious and covered head to foot in dirt. She went straight to his side.

"Fenris?" Marian asked, the fear rising in her voice. "Are you alright?" She brushed his cheek and then his forehead. When he did not respond she laid her head on his chest to listen for his breathing. There was a steady beat to his heart.

Marian, convinced Fenris would live, rose quickly from the ground to investigate their circumstances. A solid wall of rock had cut them off from the others. If it had not been for Fenris's quick action, Marian realized she would dead. _Varric, Anders... Carver, please do not let them be dead, _she thought.

"Carver!" she yelled. "Are you alive? Can you hear me?" Each question grew more frantic. She laid her hands against the wall, as if touching it could somehow bring her closer to him. "Please, answer me brother." When no word was spoken, Marian began to cry. "Carver?" Her voice was meek and resigned to the fact he may indeed be dead.

"Hawke?" Fenris asked. He had risen from the dirt encrusted ground, massaging the bump on his forehead. "Are you hurt?"

She quickly wiped her tears away and went to Fenris. "I am fine." The elf's head was bruised and his arm scraped, but other than that, Marian could see no other wounds. "Do you want an elfroot potion to heal your cuts?"

"No, we should save them in case the others…" His eyes darted around the room. "Where are the others?"

Marian shook her head and she could no longer stop the tears from running. "They are on the other side." She wiped the wetness away from her cheeks. "I do not know if they live or not."

"I…" Fenris studied their surroundings. They were in a large cavern with a cathedral height ceiling, and enclosed on all sides. A ray of sunlight streamed in through an opening in the rock above and illuminated the floor. Fenris was thankful for that small miracle. He walked to the wall and his fingers meticulously felt for the slightest breeze. But when none could be found, the markings on his skin lit, and with immense effort his hand phased through the stone. I can not reach the other side," he said.

Marian began to pace in short hurried steps. The bun in her hair was frayed, spilling over onto the sides of her head, covered in small flecks of stone and moss. She pulled and tugged the strands while she tried to reconcile her fears. "I yelled but they did not answer," Marian said, a nervous quake in her voice. "They are probably dead."

Besides being trapped in a cave, this was a new situation for Fenris. He did not know how to offer comfort to a normal person. Danarius had always wanted a 'particular' flavor of reassurance that did not fall into the category of sane. Logic was the only tool he had at hand.

"You do not know for certain that they are dead," he said, confident his appraisal of the situation was sound. "They could be seeking help and we should focus on that possibility."

The once well groomed hair began to fall apart, much like its owner. Marian rapidly shook her head, determined not to be comforted. Fenris recognized the guilt, as if somehow they could have avoided fate, and he knew how easy it was to fall prey to it, to allow it to consume your thoughts and render you useless.

"No," she said. Her breathing became ragged. "We are trapped. No one will come. We will die here in this dank place."

Fenris felt inadequate as she sank to the ground. Her knees curled inwards towards her chest and her head fell heavily onto her knees and she no longer tried to stifle her sobs.

_Think. What do I say to her? I find that I cannot bear to watch her cry._ He rubbed his temples in an effort to soothe his tattered nerves._ Why do I care? _The thought sounded harsh even in the privacy of his mind._ I do not know why, but I do._

It came to him then, a simple solution it seemed, perhaps too simple, but he had little experience in these matters.

Fenris sat next to her, at a comfortable distance. "I…" he started but his voice escaped him and cracked. Marian looked up then and at him. He wanted to smile away the pretty tears in her eyes, rub them from her cheeks with his thumbs, anything to see her face unmarred. He wanted… _I want, _he thought_ to make her want me. _He buried that need before it had time to transcend beyond his irrational mind and form into a real desire.

Marian had been patiently waiting for him to continue. He owed her comfort. It was the least he could do considering what she had done for him.

"When I was a slave," Fenris said, the silence thankfully broken. "I often lay awake in my pallet at night thinking what it meant to continue with my life. Why would I do so under such dire circumstances?" What he said was not the truth for the most part. The actual truth was that he wondered how best to please his master day after day.

"And?" Marian said in a way that suggested his observations were not welcomed at the moment. "What did you decide?"

"That death would surely come, but if I welcomed its arrival, then I agreed with Danarius; my life was indeed worthless."

The crying stopped. Marian's mind was now turned to other things, to Fenris. _Yes, _she thought_. If I sit here and wait for death it will only prolong the agony. Best to welcome life as long as it is to be had. I hate how the damned elf makes me think, but I wouldn't have it any other way._


	6. Chapter 6: Forever a Virgin

Thank you to all for your reviews, fav, alerts and for reading! Lots of power outages have given me the chance to write. Now for some fluffy stuff. Thank you!

**Chapter 6: Forever a Virgin**

* * *

"Oh look at those ears!" Grace heard her grandmother say. "She is simply darling."

The door to the parlor was ajar enough to see inside without opening it further. Grace peeked into the room. Standing next to her grandmother were two Elven women, one of them she knew to be Thalia, the maid, the other she did not recognize. The unmistakable sound of a baby cooing and grunting grabbed Grace's attention. She had been destined to visit the garden with her mother and drink afternoon tea. But this... an Elven baby in the parlor being held by her grandmother was too interesting to miss.

"Why, I remember when Grace was this little." Madeline said, the pride in her voice quite unmistakable. "She was such a pretty baby, but quite plump. I never could quite understand why, considering her father was..." The sentence was never finished. All heads had turned towards the door where Grace stood eavesdropping. She had huffed at being named a plump baby and at the mention of her father... well that was something that both interested and hurt Grace. No one ever spoke of her father, and when they did, it never made sense.

"Grace?' Madeline asked. "Are you there, dear?"

Grace interlaced her fingers and marched quite primly into the room. Her head was held higher than usual, which reminded Madeline of a peacock strutting, and she deliberately did not acknowledge the presence of the Elven women.

"Yes, I am here grandmother," Grace said. She looked down at the swathed bundle in Madeline's arms. A tiny Elven girl with the brightest olivine eyes, the same color as her own, Grace noted, stared up at her with the innocence of new life. "Did you require my presence?" she asked, her voice cold and withdrawn.

Madeline gestured for Grace to take the baby. The young woman was shaking her hands and her head in protest, determined not to hold it. But, Grandmother Madeline prevailed and Grace brought the baby into her arms, albeit with the reluctance of a mule.

"Ah Grace, isn't she beautiful?" Madeline asked. "Her name is, Mona. It means "little noble one."

_Why am I standing here holding a knife-ear's child? _Grace wondered._ And why for that matter is grandmother insistent I do so? Uh, Maker, please do not tell me she is wishing for great grandchildren. _

"Noble one?' Grace inquired. "That is a... creative name." Grace moved her nose away from the baby and scowled. "Mona smells rather pungent, noble or not."

Madeline shook her head. "Hand her back to her mother, and come sit with me for a moment."

Mona's mother gently removed her daughter from Grace's arms, and with a nod to Madeline, she and Thalia walked from the parlor and into the gardens.

"It was such a blessing to hold that baby today," Madeline said and she sighed. "What I would give to be a mother again." Her tongue clucked. "Mind you, your mother was quite a fussy baby. I guess some things never change."

Grace covered her mouth as she laughed. "Mother is special," she said and a small giggle was shared between granddaughter and grandmother. The mood swiftly turned serious once the laughter died down. "Grandmother, I was listening at the door and I apologize, but I could not help but hear you mention my father."

"Yes dear, I did," Madeline said. She would not lie and do Grace a disservice. "It is a matter you must discuss with your mother."

The comment silenced Grace. She looked out into the garden where her mother sat sipping her tea and her eyes welled. Being the noblewoman that she was, Grace quickly blinked the tears away. "This story that you have requested I read," she quickly changed topics, "I have to admit it has rather shocked me that you, a renowned lady of Starkhaven, would read such... I shall just say it, vulgarity."

"Oh?" Madeline said, rather amused and not at all surprised by her granddaughter's words. "Grace, my darling," Madeline leaned forward and clasped her ganddaughter's hands. "Propriety is overrated."

Grace's eyebrows rose. "If that is the case then why do we sit in this mansion conforming to the social rules of nobility? Why do we not," she gestured towards the door, "sell our luxuries and live in the wilds?"

"Because," Madeline smiled with all the warmth of sunshine. "A very special woman and man wanted us to have a better life."

The comment alarmed Grace. It was fringing on something she had always known, some secret that her family had long ago buried. According to Tess Lefébvre, the young countess of Val Foret, every noble family had skeletons in the closet. Why should hers be any different?

Grace quirked an eyebrow and then she smiled a perfectly impish smile that delighted her grandmother. "Would you like me to read more of this... high literature to you?"

Madeline sat back in her overstuffed chair and laughed. "Marian Hawke is a bad influence."

Grace placed the old leather bound book in her lap. "She is intriguing; I will admit nothing more."

And Grace began to read:

Day 1

Marian and Fenris turned their minds to the practical; food, sleep, hygiene, as could be had in a cave, and entertainment. They had enough essentials to live comfortably for five days, if they carefully rationed their food. Marian scouted out the flattest spot in the cave and started to create a place to sleep. Fenris watched, intrigued and convinced women had an inborn trait that dictated practicality when life was harsh. At least, Marian had that trait. The same could not be said of Hadrianna, the pet pupil of Danarius, and the nastiest bitch to ever walk Thedas.

He followed her example, and set about creating his own sleeping space. Fenris was satisfied when his body was busy. The physical excursion gave him an outlet for his anger and pent up frustration and it allowed his mind the opportunity to work through problems in a positive way. It also explained why he often used his sword, rather than his words to prove a point.

After Hawke finished making her bed, she began to strip away unnecessary pieces of armor. Fenris pretended to be focused on ironing out the wrinkles on his blanket, but he watched her every move. It was not a perverse need to admire the female form, rather, it was a character study. Fenris was a keen observer of people; he had to be in order to survive. When she laid her leather archer's vambraces carefully down beside her pack and folded her chain mail into a neat square, it told him that this was a person who valued her armor and took pride in keeping it in good condition. That was something he could respect. She was not flippant, everything had value. _Perhaps, she also values my company, _Fenris thought_. Maybe... no, if she truly knew me I doubt she would consider me a friend. The only person who finds me valuable is Danarius. If I forget that then I forget my purpose._

Fenris decided after Marian was seated on her makeshift bed that he could no longer feign tidiness. _Do I... strip away some of my armor or do I sit? What does etiquette dictate when one is trapped in a cave?_ Fenris smiled at his own thoughts. He slowly removed his gauntlets and steel vambraces, just as Marian had done, and laid them gently beside his pack. Next, he removed his steel breastplate and his sword. Marian pretended to be extremely interested in a hangnail instead of Fenris's exposed arms and hands. _Sweet Maker, I love you, _Marian thought._ You could have made me spend my dying days with Varric or a man who loves cats more than I am certain is healthy, but instead you have graced me with this vision. _She watched the muscles in Fenris's arm flex and bulge admirably as he began polishing his sword. _I need to do a task, - anything- before I am caught staring, or before I spontaneously erupt on the spot. _

Fenris peeked at Marian as she rummaged around in her pack. His curiosity grew when she pulled out fifty shafts of wood and a pile of feathers. Marian grabbed her shaping knife and one of the wooden shafts. Fenris watched almost without blinking as she created an arrow in less than a minute. When it was finished, he leaned over, "May I?" he asked.

Hawke inclined her head. "Of course. It is always a good idea to inspect the work of a Fletcher, especially one who helps protect your life."

The oak shaft was straight as it should be and the bone arrowhead was sharpened to a fine point and firmly attached. He studied the fletching closely, for he knew the slight twist in a bird's feathers made the arrow rotate in flight, which increased accuracy. If they were sloppy, the arrow could end up in the back of his head, but it was perfectly constructed. Fenris discovered that he envied her talent.

"Why the bow?" Fenris asked. Weapons were a safe topic. A topic he could both appreciate and expand upon without feeling inadequate. "You were obviously attracted to it. Do you know why?"

Marian smiled a beautiful uninhibited smile, the type that made a man twitch to Fenris's shame and hidden delight. The subject was one that was close to his heart, a place he had not consciously sought but was glad to find. It soon became obvious that they shared a love of weaponry.

Marian tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture that Fenris found oddly sweet. She smiled at the wood she carved and not at Fenris. There was a shy side to Marian, when it came to intimate conversations and settings. Responsibility to her family had always come before her personal desires and needs. Malcolm, her dead father, had charged Marian with ensuring the family's continued survival. That meant work and it left little time for personal pursuits, such as men.

"I used to watch my father shoot fire from his hands when he trained with my sister, Bethany. I was in awe." Marian's smile brightened. "I wished," She was almost lost for words. "I wished I could do it. Unfortunately, the closest I came to flaming fingertips was to have Bethany catch my arrows on fire and then shoot them. Not really the same level of drama except... hmmm," she said thoughtfully. "There was that one time when I caught the garden shed on fire."

"Your father was an apostate?" Fenris's relaxed posture had stiffened and the lower part of his body wilted.

"He was my father," Marian corrected and then she sighed and laid her arrow shafts aside. "I have had enough disappointments for one day must we go here?"

_When was she going to tell me? I am surprised her brother did not mention it by now considering how disconnected his mind is from his mouth. _Fenris studied his feet for a moment, an internal war raged through his mind. It was about trust. Could he trust the daughter of an apostate? When he looked into her eyes he saw a mirror of what he often felt: I will be judged, though a person may never know me, what I am defines me, and he wondered if Marian and he were really so different.

Fenris bowed his head. "I apologize," he said in truth. "I realize that not all mages are the same, but it is difficult for me to overlook what I have been subjected to in my life."

"I would say I sympathize to be polite, but that would be a lie," Marian said and she restrained from showing pity out of respect for Fenris. "I do not understand what it must have been like to be at the mercy of such a cruel man. My experiences with magic are quite different."

"But surely you have seen the abuses of magic," Fenris said and he looked down at his markings. "Am I not a good enough example?"

Marian followed the white tendrils from his bicep up to his face, imagining the missing pattern under his armor. "You are a fine example of many things, Fenris and yes, I have seen the abuses, but I have also seen the templars do the same to mages and elves." She sighed. The day was wearing on her, draining her patience dry. "My father was not a blood mage nor did he ever practice that vile art to my knowledge. My sister…" The memory of Bethany dying at the hand of an Ogre haunted her thoughts. It was a never ending nightmare that had plagued and chained her in guilt every day since it had happened. "Well, I will not hear a cross word spoken about that sweet girl."

"Perhaps, if I had been fortunate enough to meet more mages like your father and sister my opinion of magic would be less malevolent," Fenris said, as a peace offering. "It was not my intention to upset you… Marian."

The sound of her name from his lips brightened her mood. _He is making the effort to be amicable_, Marian thought_. I do not blame him for how he feels. Maker, I am certain I would have the same misgivings if I had spent one day in his nonexistent shoes. But this is my family we are discussing perhaps… _A thought occurred to Marian, one she had not considered. Slavery was a foreign concept. She understood what it entailed, but to actually be a slave... no she could not fathom. The best she could do for Fenris was to try and see things from his perspective.

"Fenris," she began carefully, "Do you have family in Tevinter?"

"I do not know," he whispered. "If I do it was taken from me." He threw a pebble across the cave. They watched it bounce off the stone pile and ping away. "We should eat."

_That was a bit cryptic. I guess my personal Fenris quota has been used up for today. Still, it is more conversation from him than I have ever received._

"If we had wood for a fire I would make a simple stew, but I am afraid we are limited to salted meat, smoked fish and raw vegetables," Marian said. Even if she could make stew, whish she couldn't, she was certain he would not enjoy it. Her cooking skills were limited to boiling water, melting butter and pie. She could make a damn good pie.

Fenris's lip curled. "I do not like fish."

"Okay," Marian said in two distinct syllables. "Fish is completely out until we begin to starve to death."

"Marian." Fenris objected. He was starting to like the sound of her name. It was personal, but in their current circumstances it hardly seemed to matter. "We may yet be rescued."

"How is it you have become the optimist and me the pessimist?" Marian asked. For as long as she could remember, the family had required that she be positive. Bethany was a mage and Carver was immature. It was up to Marian to set a good example. Being offered support was strangely refreshing.

"I am an expert at survival," Fenris said. _But even I have my doubts we will live through this._ He gestured to the gap in the rocky ceiling. "At least we can still see the sky."

Marian eased down onto her bed and stared upwards to the fading sun. Carver, Varric, and Anders were on her mind. Were they dead? Seriously hurt? Bleeding to death or were they seeking help? She may never know the answer to those questions. The reality was she may die in a cave lying next to Fenris. She looked over at the elf, who had also decided to lie down. He was staring at the sky, towards the west, perhaps thinking of someone special. If she had been granted the power to stop time it would be here. Never had she seen a man look so content and carefree and she could not help but admire his natural Maker-given beauty.

_At least he will die free. _That thought comforted her as the light began to fade, perhaps a symbolic sign of what was to come of her own life. Either way, she would make the best of the time she was given before it ended.

"Are you ready to eat, Marian?" Fenris said. He rolled his head to the side and a slim smiled escaped when she looked back at him. "Because I am."

Marian laughed. "I forgot about our fish dinner." Fenris's disgusted face made her laugh harder. "And..." Her cheeks blushed. "I appreciate that you are using my given name. It makes a nice change to be reminded that I am human instead of a bird of prey."

"Your name is quite lovely for someone who eats fish," Fenris replied and he smirked at her reaction. In the failing light he studied her silhouette while she lay flat on her back. Her hair was tussled now, it had completely fallen out of the confines of the tight bun. She was covered in a fine layer of dust, but her lips were red and full like a small berry. Why he had not noticed it until now, he was unsure. Even beneath her leather he could see that her breasts were an ample size and they were heaving. His eyes sought Marian's and he noticed that she had noticed him noticing her.

"We should eat," she quickly said and sat bolt upright. "Pork?"

Fenris coughed. "I'm sorry?"

"Do you want pork with your vegetables?" Marian asked. _What did he think I was asking? _"It is all I have to offer besides fish and I know that is not an option."

_I have allowed myself too much freedom. I need to remain alert and focused, _Fenris thought. _Even in this hole, it is still possible we could be found by hunters or even Danarius. _And then it hit him like a broadsword: freedom. He was allowing his mind to think like a free man; at least, he guessed that was what he was doing when he ogled Marian. To openly admire her without fear that his master would notice and kill her or lash him out of jealousy was a new concept. He could do what he wanted without being on a tight leash. _But, how do I know? _Fenris wondered_. As soon as I believe I understand the meaning of freedom, I feel it has eluded me yet again. Who am I to admire a beautiful woman and think there is some possibility that she would do the same, that she would want to be with me? I am not free. I will probably never be truly free._

"Fenris?" Marian said. She had set his plate down in front of him and waited for him to begin eating. But when she noticed the distant look in his eyes, she realized he was mentally away. "Here is your food."

He bowed his head. "Thank you."

His voice had lost some of the warmth and familiarity, Marian had experienced earlier. It was as if a different man sat before her, brooding over his carrots and scowling at his peas. What was it that always brought him to this place? She knew the answer and had understood from the outset why he struggled to keep his anger in check. But to see the internal battle firsthand was, she had found, heartbreaking. One minute he was joking, perhaps flirting, at least she desperately hoped, and the next he had withdrawn and the dark Fenris emerged.

"Fenris, I have been thinking," Marian said. She waited, expecting a retort along the lines of: 'That is a dangerous pastime for you Marian,' but nothing, not one sardonic word. "If we get out of this cave you and I should get very drunk together."

Whatever dark thought had pulled him under, into his pool of despair was completely forgotten. "Drunk?" he asked as if he had not heard her correctly. "You want to get drunk together?"

She smiled. _I think I am finally starting to get the hang of flirting. _"Yep, extremely drunk, alone, in your big mansion." Marian munched on her carrot and made certain not to look at him. She was afraid to see his expression. "I will provide the drink and you can provide the company."

"I..." _I am starting to question whether she is sober now, _Fenris was amused by her behavior. "I suppose there would be cause for celebration. But surely it would be best to celebrate with your friends at the Hanged Man."

_My flirting skills have not improved_, Marian sighed_. I am starting to wonder if any man would even notice if I ran through the streets of Kirkwall stark naked. I could just hear them say: Was that a naked woman? No, it was just Marian Hawke. Maker's balls and Andraste's pert buns, I am going to remain a virgin the rest of my life._

"The Hanged Man is overrated," Marian said. Fenris noticed the change in her voice. It was no longer playful, if that was the correct word, but had wilted into apathetic melancholy. "I am sorry."

Fenris laid his salted pork lightly down onto his tin plate. "For what?"

"For suggesting we get drunk at your mansion," she said, certain he had taken it as an insult. "It was forward and inconsiderate. Maker knows if I had a place of my own I would have my fill of peace and quiet before I allowed anyone to intrude" She shivered. "Gamlen's snoring makes me want to rip my hair out. Do you know," Marian started to laugh before she had finished the sentence. "One night Carver and I were so fed up we put him inside a crate in the storage room. Of course, uncle Gamlen was too drunk to care at the time. He did not even question why he had awoken in a crate the next morning."

"You were serious?" Fenris asked.

"That's nothing." She waved the question away like a pesky fly. "We once found Gamlen passed out and dressed like a whore."

Fenrish shook his head. "No, I guess I did not make myself clear, though hearing tales of your uncle's drunken escapades is amusing, I was referring to..."

"Oh!" Marian said. The enthusiasm did not mask her surprise. "About getting drunk at your mansion?" Fenris nodded. "I meant every word of it," she said, deadly serious.

Fenris felt the heat creep into his cheeks. She was serious and wanted to be alone with him, and drunk. _Why? Why would she... No, I will not allow these silly notions to plague my mind. At best, we may become friends. She is lonely and frightened and not thinking clearly and I am... in denial_, he finally concluded. A night in the company of a pleasant woman was not something he could fully fathom, but he now desperately wanted it to happen. _I will wait and see if she changes her mind. I am certain she will once we are rescued._

Dinner finished in silence. Marian decided it would be best to stop embarrassing herself with attempts at painfully inadequate flirting and die with some dignity. When it was obvious Fenris had finished, she grabbed their plates and scraped them in the furthest corner from where they slept. She used her small camping shovel to cover the scraps with the cave dirt.

Fenris had retreated to his bed. He was staring once again up at the sky, this time the clear night sky. Marian walked quietly to her bed, not wanting to disturb him since he looked at peace. She stripped away the rest of her armor until she was left standing in her silk undershirt and trousers.

"Goodnight," she whispered.

"Goodnight, Marian," Fenris said. "I hope you rest well."

_I won't and it will be your fault, _Marian thought_. Little naked versions of you will be dancing through my head, taunting me with rippling muscles and sexy voices. _

"Thank you," Marian replied. "You too."


	7. Chapter 7: Guessing Games

If I fail to reply to a review it is simply because I have an awful time with FF net messaging system. I always reply to messages and reviews, so if I don't feel free to prod me :)

I know many of you have expressed a growing dislike of Grace. I just want to say that I absolutely love elves and I hate writing the lines that I do, but it all has a purpose ;) I thought we could with a break from her this chapter. ;)

Thank you to everyone for your reviews, favs, alerts and very kind support! I appreciate it as always :DDD

**Chapter 7: Guessing Games**

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"A cow?"

"No."

"A… goat?"

"No."

"A dragon?"

"That's not a farmyard animal, Fenirs," Marian said.

"A… sheep?" Fenris asked meekly.

Marian rolled her eyes. "It looks nothing like a cloud with legs. It's a horse!"

Fenris examined the stick drawing again. It did have a round body, four long legs and two parts that could be a mane and tail. Still… he could not find any semblance to a horse in her... artwork. He gently laid his hand on the stick that Marian was holding.

"Allow me," he said. Their fingers touched for a mere second, long enough to make Marian blush. Since breakfast they had been sitting next to each other on the cave floor, she drawing pictures and he trying to guess what it was she had drawn. Thanks to Marian's lack of artistic talent it had proved to be a rather elusive challenge.

Marian watched Fenris skillfully draw the outline of a horse complete with mane and tail. To her surprise, he continued to add small details, nostrils, eyes, hooves, distinct definition of muscles and finally a rider with two pointy ears. That made her smile. She arose and walked several steps backwards until she was able to take in the full picture. How he had accomplished to create a wonderfully detailed picture worthy of a place on the wall with a stick would always remain a mystery to Marian.

"How did you do that?" Marian asked. _They teach slaves to draw? Of course they don't. He has natural talent. _"Have you always been able to draw?"

Fenris quickly scratched out his picture with the stick. Marian was horrified that he had erased it. "I… needed a way to pass the time when I was locked in my room. Luckily, the magisters have yet to find a way to rid the world of sticks and dirt."

"Why did you destroy it?" Marian asked, annoyed that the one interesting aspect of the cave had been removed. "I was still admiring it."

He began to draw again. "Habit," Fenris mumbled under his breath. "I would have been beaten if I still lived in my master's home and the picture was discovered." He began to draw a ship with large sails, speeding along on the ocean. "Freedom of expression is still a type of freedom and we were allowed none."

_Maker's breath, _Marian thought_. Being beaten for drawing a picture? What about the children? What did they do for fun… no_, she decided_, it's best not to think on that._ Marian watched his hand move skillfully, each line and stroke creating another piece of the picture. _You are such a mystery, Fenris. I know you would not want my pity but right now, as I watch you struggle to enjoy your talent, I do pity you. _She looked away and left him to his drawing_. I thought I would get the chance to help you, Fenris. You remind me of my father, being chased across Thedas by men who want to bend you to their will. My only regret is that I will not be able to show you how free people truly live. You will die here with me, unfulfilled._

Fenris stopped drawing before he had completed the picture. He hurriedly erased it with his bare foot. Marian edged closer to him, cautious, wondering if he may be angry. It was not unlike him to be taken by a mood and lash out with harsh words. Fenris had cradled his legs to his chest and his chin was propped on top of his knees. He side glanced at Marian when she sat down next to him closer than expected.

"I hope you did not escape a life of slavery only to die in this dark hole here with me," Marian said. She stretched her legs out in front and rubbed her thighs with her hands to try and regain some warmth. "I am so sorry, Fenris. If anyone deserves to live it's you."

Fenris chuckled. "Funny, I have spent the majority of my life wondering what it would be like to die." He looked at her through his long tendrils of hair and noticed that she had begun to cry. _How do I make her stop? _He wondered_._ How many women had he seen cry in his lifetime? They were beaten, sacrificed, raped and tortured. Too many, he decided, to recall or to count. Suddenly, dying in a cave felt like a luxurious way for their lives to end. But Marian… well he was certain she would not think the same. Outside of this cave there was a life awaiting her, full of friends and family. The only thing he could offer her in this grim place was reassurance. "Marian, I would rather die here free than in a collar at Danariaus's side."

She wiped her stinging tears away. "Fenris, there were so many things I wanted to help you experience and to show you," Marian said.

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Oh?" he said in a playful way. "Exactly what did you want to show and experience with me?"

A nervous laugh followed by an impressive blush brightened Marian's face. "Well experiencing it with you had crossed my mind," she said without thinking. The surprised, embarrassed and utterly perplexed expression on Fenris's face made it clear that he had been joking. Marian quickly backtracked. "I meant, help you experience the joys of freedom and… show you how fun life can be. That's what had crossed my mind. Not 'it' in case that sounded like I was referring to something… different than what I should not have said or meant." _Did that even make any sense? Maker, his cheeks are red. He knows I meant sex. I have insulted his intelligence and his body by trying to deny my attraction. Why don't I just tell him? What does it matter now? Then I can die of embarrassment before starvation. _

Fenris looked away. _She… meant it in the way that I jested. Why would she want to experience a union with me?_ The thought played through his mind again and again. He could not reconcile it._ I cannot allow this. These thoughts are pointless and unproductive. It would be so easy to … _He glanced at her silk shirt and beneath he could see her breast band and the round shape of her nipples. Her cheeks were highly blushed, her lips moist and red, and her elegant neck exposed. Fenris licked his lips. A strange hunger was starting to overtake his rational thought. _Perhaps, I could allow myself the occasional distraction. This cave is miserable, more miserable than a ship's hold but she... is quite lovely. _

They were sitting in the middle of a cave illuminated by a meager beam of light. The walls were wet with runoff from the ground. Earthy smells permeated the air, refreshing the first day but now it had sunk deep into her clothes and skin. Everything had grown damp, their clothes, the packs, and worst of all the blankets. Last night Marian had shivered after sunset, not that it was particularly warm in the daytime, but at least it was bearable. During her restless sleep the strangest thoughts plagued her mind. She would awake thinking she heard Carver groaning in pain or whispering her name. If her friends and brother were dead, would they start to smell their rotting corpses? If Carver, Anders or Varric awoke would they hear them crying out for help and not be able to reach them? In the morning the impenetrable wall greeted them, their only means of escape and perhaps her brother's tomb. She was losing control, feeling suffocated by their enclosure.

Marian rubbed her eyes. There was no point in crying in front of Fenris. It could wait until night while she lay awake freezing. "This place is getting to me." She looked up through the hole in the rock. "It is so damn cruel. I can see the sky and the trees above taunting us, yet I cannot get there."

_That explains it then, _Fenris thought._ She is simply not herself. I should not take her words seriously concerning coupling. _He found that he was disappointed by this revelation and that in itself came as a shock. _What is this woman to me? Do I look at her because she is a woman or because there is something more?_

"You should try and remain positive, Marian," Fenris said, though he was struggling to do so himself. "Kirkwall is a day away and it would take at least another or more for your friends to return with help."

Marian leapt from the ground and the commotion startled Fenris. She pointed to the collapsed wall. "They are dead, Fenris, or seriously hurt! No one is coming for us and even if they were, by the time they dug us out of this mess we would have starved to death."

"You do not know..." His voice had risen in volume. But Fenris did know. His keen Elven hearing had heard Carver cry out in pain. Beyond that, there had been no other sound that he could readily identify. Now, he was faced with the fact that after his struggle to be free of Danarius he would most likely die in a cave. He wanted to live, he needed to live and experience a life outside of Tevinter.

"I do know!" Marian yelled over his words. She grabbed her pack and threw it against the wall. "Our food is going bad because of the damp. We are running out of water and it's starting to smell in here."

Fenris stared at the crumpled pack. "Well throwing it isn't going to help the food, that is for certain."

_How can he be funny at a time like this? _Marian wondered_. I want to hug him and kill him at the same time. _She sighed and then shrugged_. Maker what's the point._

Marian retreated to her original sitting spot next to Fenris. He was aware there would be many more breakdowns in the days to come and they would only grow in intensity. Starving to death in a damp hole was never going to be pleasant.

"Fenris," Marian whispered. She moved until her body was facing his and she bent her head so that she could see under his hair and into his eyes. "I do not know what to do."

The closeness and the way she stared at him was uncomfortable. No one had ever asked him for a solution or considered him a source of emotional strength. He had always been told what to feel, what to do and how to do it. Marian, he realized, wanted his support.

"To be honest, there is nothing we can do but wait," Fenris said. It had been the wrong answer. Marian laid her head in her hands and began to weep. _Do women outside of the Imperium always cry this much? How do I comfort her? _"Do you want me to draw more pictures? I can... draw anything you like."

She started to laugh. This up and down behavior had Fenris perplexed. Why couldn't she bury her feelings? Why did they have to be on the surface for everyone to see? He had learned long ago to keep his emotions hidden. It was a weakness to openly display what you felt. Attachment, longing, envy, pride any emotion would be used against him if the magister was able to get a whiff of it. But Marian... she showed all that she felt without restraint. _It is trust, _Fenris realized_. She trusts me enough to show me her weakness without worry I will use it against her in future. _

"Draw me a picture?" Marian reiterated. She smiled and laid a hand on Fenris's shoulder and squeezed it. His eyes stared at her hand as if it were a tarantula perched and ready to bite, but she did not seem to notice his fear. "That is very sweet Fenris." Her hand fell back to her lap. "Do you know what I would like?"

"No," Fenris said. "Unless it is a picture."

Marian smiled her bright unrestrained smile, the one that affected the lower half of his body. "I would like to get to know you better," she said. "If I may die then I would like to know the man who is going to die at my side."

_What does that mean? _Fenris wondered. He considered her request before speaking. _We are, if I am honest, most likely going to die; perhaps this is the time to finally allow someone to know me? I... do not know how to do this. _But, he finally accepted that it was now or never.

"I would like that," Fenris simply said to Marian's surprise. "What is it that you would know of me?

Her eyes were half-lidded, full of endearment and emotion. "Everything," she said to his horror.

"I am going to regret this aren't I?"

"Yes," Marian said and she giggled. For Fenris, the sound was beautiful. It was the happiest he had seen Marian since the day of the cave-in. The situation was frightening for Marian, he guessed, perhaps her first real face with death. This set of circumstances would make a normal person act irrationally, maybe say things they did not truly mean out of fear or for a need to feel closeness. The latter was probably true of Marian. Would she know what it meant to be lonely? Was she using him as a pacifier because there was no one else to lean on in her time of need?

He also felt the stress lift from his shoulders. They had focused on their abysmal situation and the inevitable outcome for a day and a half. If it was going to be the end then the time together should be fruitful and any attempt to make it less miserable should be explored.

Marian rose from the ground, her buttocks aching and numb, and walked to her makeshift bed. She gestured for Fenris to join. The bewildered man could not decide if she meant lay on her bed or if he should go to his own. When Marian patted the empty space next to her, Fenris gulped. _This is awkward, _he thought_. What if she tries to touch me again? Would she truly understand if I flinched? What if I react or harm her? I..._

He breathed deeply. This was his chance to know someone outside of being a slave, to friend them as a free man. It helped that it was a beautiful woman who had expressed an interest in him.

Fenris did not consider his appearance to be attractive. When he looked at his vine-like markings he saw a grotesque display of his former master's arrogance. He did not know his actual age and he was convinced the ritual that had created his markings had prematurely aged him. It had taken his memory, why would it not take his youth? When he could bear to study his appearance in a mirror, the white hair and darkness under his eyes told the story of the hardship he had endured. Whatever he had been before the ritual it no longer remained. He often wondered if his own mother would recognize him or would she pass him on the street and never know it was her son.

The thought of his unknown family, of a mother and father he would probably never remember angered Fenris. His hands tightly balled and the claw of his gauntlets dug deep into his palms.

_I want something for myself, _Fenris decided_. I have given years of my life to people who spat on me when I walked passed, whipped me, forced me to kill innocents and used me when they desired. _He looked over at Marian lying on the bed and he smiled a lopsided determined smile_. _Her eyes widened, but not out of fear or friendship, he could see it now, there was attraction, lust, maybe more_. _When she returned his smile it was not a friendly gesture, it was warm and inviting: desire. _I want her for me._


	8. Chapter 8: Admission

Thank you to everyone as always for your reviews, comments, messages, favs, alerts and general all around love. It's been some time since I have been able to post. I hope you enjoy :D No... I don't like Grace either but she is necessary evil.

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**Chapter 8: Admission**

It was midmorning when Grace began to read. After the last chapter, she refused to read aloud to her grandmother without first skimming the chapter. Breasts, nipples, it was all too much. There was, if she were honest, an affinity growing in her for Marian. The idea of fancying an ex Elven slave was perplexing, but pushing that aside, she enjoyed the novelty of the adventurer's life.

Grace sat on her chaise lounge in front of a large beveled glass window. The light scattered as it shone through and cast an array of colors on the ground. Those messy rainbows, as Grace liked to think of them, had entertained her since she was a child. It brought a slim smile to her face, an expression that had rarely happened since her return from Orlais. The young noblewoman had become obsessed with fashion and wrinkles and those simple pleasures she had once enjoyed no longer mattered. She draped the heavy fabric of her dress over her exposed leg and relaxed like a cat curled up in the warm sun. It was a picture perfect setting.

_What page was I on?_ She flipped through the book, studying the beginning of each line for a clue. _Ah yes, the elf has decided he wants her. Well, _She cocked an eyebrow_. If Marian has any sense of decorum she will reject his advances and reconsider her rash feelings towards him. It is the lure of the exotic, I suspect. Why can this Marian Hawke not see her folly? Why must she..._

There was a small timid rap on the door. Grace blew out an exaggerated sigh, folded her book onto her lap and straightened her posture. "Yes?" she asked.

"It is me, Thalia," the maid said. "I have brought your tea and biscuits."

"You may enter," Grace remarked, short and succinct. She pretended to be interested in her book, but she watched the young woman, every single move for any mistake. "Please, sit the tray on the table."

Thalia did as Grace asked. "Is there anything else you require?"

Grace waved her hand in one graceful movement like a queen addressing her court. "That is all."

For a brief moment, Thalia was certain she would laugh. Grace had become intolerable since her return from Orlais. She pranced around the mansion in the finest Starkhaven had to offer, demanded freshly cut flowers in every room and sat in front of the mirror applying strange make-up to her skin in the morning. To Thalia it looked wholly unnatural. The white pasty liquid she smeared across every inch of her face dampened her natural skin color bringing it closer to the hue of the newly deceased than vibrant beauty. _It is horrible, _Thalia thought and in her mind she could hear Grace's fake Orlesian accent. This time she did laugh.

"What is it that you find amusing, Thalia?" Grace asked. She rolled her eyes upwards and cast a glare that quickly soured Thalia's lively smile. "Did I miss something?"

_She does not want me to answer that question, _Thalia thought, but to her surprise she giggled again_. _"I am sorry, it is nothing. I was simply tickled by my sister's words from yesterday eve." Thalia attempted to diffuse the situation with a strategically placed grin. "New mothers must find ways to keep their spirits up."

"Well... I am glad you are entertained. I have to admit that Elven humor eludes me," Grace said and the pomposity in her voice angered Thalia. Her eyes studied the maid for a mere second, up and down, and then looked away in indifference. Thalia had seen it, she could not miss it for she had been subjected to the racist scrutiny of humans her entire life. But this... well this was a different matter. "Humans and elves are so very different in their likes and dislikes. It is a wonder we find a way to communicate at all."

Thalia's hands balled into tight fists. It took every measure of her restraint to withhold the full onslaught of anger she wished to unleash on Grace. "No, Grace, we are not that different."

"Excuse me?" Grace's eyes had widened, her body stiffened and she wondered if she had heard the maid correctly. "You dare speak my given name and in that tone? I will have you dismissed."

Thalia smiled with pride. "You have no say in the matter. _You_," she emphasized, "believe you are superior because of your studies in Orlais. We once played together in the garden as friends and equals, now you bark at me like I am dog. It is I who will leave this place for I am ashamed for your family and mine."

Thalia turned to leave but Grace's next words held her firm. "Elf, do not turn your back on me!"

"One day you will be humbled and I hope to be there to see the look on your face, Grace," Thalia said defiant and with the regality of royalty. "One day you will truly understand what it is to be one of us and all your finery and snobbery will not hide the truth of what and who you are. You will meet him and he will teach you the true meaning of nobility." Thalia slammed the door shut before Grace was given a chance to reply. The maid would hand in her resignation that afternoon and never see Grace again.

Grace sat stunned. No human or elf had dared to insult her in her own home. _What did she mean who and what I am? I know who I am. And for that matter who is 'he'?_ She rolled her eyes and huffed. _What a load of nonsense. That woman is out of her mind._

She made a mental note to tell her mother and grandmother what had happened and to make certain Thalia did not return. It had wounded her pride to be told she did not have the authority to dismiss the maid especially since it was the truth. Grace opened her book intent on forgetting the whole confrontation. Marian Hawke's predicament made her feel better about her own problems. Grace began to read:

Day 2 Evening

Fenris laid on one side of the bed and Marian the other. They were parted by a great divide of empty blankets. Every move she made no matter how slight put him on edge. Thanks to Danarius and Hadrianna it had become reflex to avoid any physical contact with another person. Fenris closed his eyes desperate to find a way to cope with her proximity.

_This is ridiculous, _he thought._ Marian has no intention of hurting me_. He side glanced at her, a quick study to see if there was any malice in her face. She was opening and closing her mouth like a fish and laughing. Marian hated long pauses in conversation. Humor, was a great way to put people at ease, at least it had always worked for her father, and she wanted to see if she could make Fenris laugh. _No, _he smirked_, if anything she is a danger to herself and my sanity. _

Fenris rolled onto his side and propped his head up with his arm. "Why are you imitating a fish?"

"To make you smile," she said and she bobbed again, until he was no longer able to hold in his laughter. "It worked."

He rolled onto his back and stared up through the hole in the rock. The light of the sun was fading fast. Above he could see the silhouette of leaves trembling in the slight wind. He hoped tonight he might catch a glimpse of a star, anything other than blackness. After their evening meal, Marian had located a lantern but she had yet to find her flint. He was determined to help her search for it in the morning.

"What are you thinking about?" Marian asked. Fenris was a mystery, one that she wanted to unravel. Today had been hell, tomorrow would be worse, now she wanted and needed a distraction. "You always seem so wrapped up in your thoughts, Fenris."

"I tend to dwell on the past, mostly negative happenings," he admitted to his surprise. "For three years I have been on the run from hunters and my master. Now I have time to consider and ponder what it means to be free…" He turned his head to look at her. "Thanks largely to you."

_Three years? He has been on the run every day? _She felt the pity well up inside, but quickly buried it before it became apparent._ I need to act natural, not draw attention to his past. _Marian blushed. "Pish," she said and waved the comment away. "I really did not contribute much to your freedom."

"Yes," he started to say, half humored by her humility. "Killing two groups of highly trained slave hunters and then having the willingness to face a magister is a minor detail. I am surprised I even noticed."

Marian hurled her pillow at him. He caught it before it hit his ear. "You were free for three years before we met. That is hardly a small feat. It makes my effort pale in comparison."

Three years of running, stealing and sleeping often in the open had felt like an eternity of hell but it was nothing compared to each second spent as a slave. Marian, he knew, would never understand how drinking stale ale and eating partially molded bread was a gift compared to the food and lodgings he had received in Tevinter. They had not known each other long, but already his life had improved. He had been able to rest in a bed for longer than a day, eat fresh food, laugh without reserve, engage in pleasant conversation and have his opinion taken into account. It was a gift, a wondrous aspect of life he never thought to enjoy. Above all else, he firmly believed Marian could help rid him of Danarius forever.

_Brood, brood, brood. He's thinking again, _Marian thought playfully in her mind._ I must make him stop. But how? I would ask him what he is thinking but I am certain it will not be pleasant. If I don't ask him something he will grumble and brood. _She sighed in her mind._ How do I un-grumpy an elf? _A small smile crept onto her lips. _Be mindless._

"So," Marian said. Her fingers drummed lightly on her stomach. "What is your favorite color?"

Fenris cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Marian smiled. "You said I could ask you anything."

"I was expecting questions of a more… personal nature," Fenris stated and he immediately regretted it. The idea had now been sown. "But perhaps it would be best to ask impersonal questions," he hurriedly added.

"No, no, no," she playfully scolded. "You said anything I want and I am going to ask what I like because…" She rolled over onto her side and stared at his prostate form. "You are extremely interesting. The most interesting man I have ever met."

_Why did I agree to this? _Fenris wondered_. Does it matter? This is the end of day two and I have heard nothing from the other side of the rockslide. I suspect they are dead and we will be as well. Perhaps… since she seems truly interested I can tell her what she wishes to know and die with a clear conscience._

"Then ask," Fenris whispered. "I will not withhold a single fact."

_Oh he is game. _Marian smirked._ Well this should be enlightening and fun. I should see if I can embarrass him. I love it when his ears blush._

"You are going to ask something embarrassing aren't you?"

"Yes," Marian replied with a smile on her face. "So…"

Fenris rolled his eyes and sighed. "So? What is it to be?"

"Is there anyone who has your… attention?" _I can't believe I just asked that, _Marian thought_. I really am amazing. Why don't I just strip and fling myself at him. Please take me Fenris! Have mercy on this poor virgin and make her a woman before she dies and spends eternity at the Maker's side. _Marian wanted to bang her head against the cave wall until rendered unconscious_. Bloody hell, even holy Andraste wasn't a virgin. I bet she was better at this than me. Actually, Andraste must have been the supreme expert when it came to flirting. Gods don't fall for just anyone. _Marian counted to ten and then relaxed, a method procured from her father._ I wonder what it is like when you end up at the Marker's side? _She gave it due consideration._ Really boring I suspect._

Fenris studied Marian as she self flagellated her mind. The range of emotions she displayed humored and bewildered him. She rolled her eyes, smacked her hand against her forehead, stared upwards to the heaven as if to be talking silently to the Maker, counted, appeared to relax and finally displayed a face similar to one who may be experiencing constipation. Fenris decided it would best to speak before he laughed.

"Are you asking if I am romantically interested in someone?" Fenris hesitated. He had not expected this question. "If that is what you ask my answer is: yes."

_Don't ask, don't ask, don't ask. _"May I ask who?"

Fenris debated if he should lie. He no longer had the option to tell her to mind her business since he had sworn he would hide nothing. It would make life awkward to admit the truth, that he understood, and possibly miserable if she did not feel the same. So Fenris stalled.

"May I ask: why do you want to know?" Fenris said. "What relevance does it have now?"

Marian looked away. Did she really want to know? It would be the type of woman that glided instead of trudged, tee-heed instead of laughed, glowed instead of sweated and no doubt danced without trying to lead. But… she did want to know. She wanted to know him.

"Is she an elf?" Marian asked to Fenris's surprise. "Maker, tell me she doesn't live in Tevinter. That would break my heart."

"No," Fenris emphatically stated.

"No she is not an elf or no she doesn't live in Tevinter?"

"No to both of your questions," Fenris said. "She… is human," he quickly added.

"Oh," Marian said. The surprise in her voice confused Fenris. He was not sure whether it was on the verge of insult or curiosity. Many humans would consider an elf's infatuation beneath their attention. Was Marian one of them? "Did you meet her on your travels?"

Fenris smiled. He was enjoying the ability to remain ambiguous and not have it considered a lie. "Yes."

_Now this is what I get for asking a clever man these questions. He is going to tell me nothing more than necessary. Bastard. _"Fenris," Marian asked. "Are you going to give me something other than one word answers?"

"No," and he laughed. "Only if I must."

"You must!" She said and added a smile. "Tell me about her, whatever you will," Marian said. His cocky smirk was proving to be a distraction, one that she enjoyed more than she liked to admit. "I want to know what kind of woman has caught your eye."

Fenris relaxed into the makeshift bed. He stretched his arms over his head and cushioned his head into his hands. Marian watched his body with avid interest.

"She is strong in body and mind, compassionate, exceptionally beautiful, willful, often rash, humorous and speaks first without thinking, and too often," Fenris said. "But… I would change nothing."

Marian smiled. It was a melancholy smile full of both warmth and admiration. "She sounds wonderful. What do you love about her most?"

He smirked. "Her inability to see the obvious."

"Oh?" Marian asked, wondering how that would be a trait to love. "Forgive me for saying so, but the inability to see the obvious, being oblivious, is not exactly a trait I would expect a man to admire."

"And what traits do you look for in a potential suitor?" Fenris asked. "I think I would rather like to hear Marian Hawke's explanation of the perfect man." There was a part of Fenris that hoped this insight into Marian's romantic thoughts might include him. He was eager to hear her answer.

"First, there is no perfect man," she grinned. "All men are subject to improving until a woman deems them acceptable and even then it is tentative."

"I see," Fenris shook his head. "Yes, because women are born perfect."

"It's a curse really," Marian said and she giggled and snorted. Fenris laughed as she flushed from embarrassment. "That was your fault."

"I am now to be blamed for your body's inept expression of laughter?" Fenris asked. He rolled onto his side and propped his head up with his arm. They were staring at each other, both thoroughly amused by the other.

Marian's eyes drifted from his face to his biceps and down the length of his body. This she did without thought and Fenris noticed her perusal. "Well if you must know there is a man that I have recently met who has taken my fancy," Marian said playfully and she smiled into the distance. Her blush, she was certain, would soon burn a hole through her cheeks. "He is rather charming, but unfortunately smitten with someone else."

_Is she really referring to me? _Fenris thought._ It seems impossible. Would she reveal so eagerly that 'he' is smitten with another woman after what I have said? _He thought about her previous actions_. I suppose a woman who makes fish faces is capable of anything._

"Are you certain?" Fenris asked eager to hear her answer. "Does he even know of your feelings?"

"Like you said: what relevance does it have now?" "Marian stated. The heavy sigh that followed moved Fenris. If it was indeed him of whom she spoke then he would find a way for it to be known that he felt the same. "Even so… I wish I had been less of a coward and told him. Maybe he would have taken pity on my poor flirting skills and courted me."

"You do not seem like the flirtatious type," Fenris said. "At least not that I have observed in my company."

"I cannot flirt," Marian said. "When I attempt to do so, men mistake it for bodily dysfunction or insanity."

Fenris chuckled. "Perhaps you try too hard. It is best to be direct with a man."

Marian rolled onto her back. The cave was dark now that the sun had set. Another day trapped in a pit and another day of considering death was about to pass. She longed to tell Fenris how she felt but she wondered how painful it would be if he reciprocated. They were going to die. Would it not be tragic to express her feelings? _Selfish, she thought. It would be selfish to tell him. I led Carver and my friends to their deaths. What happiness do I deserve now? I should die miserable and afraid just like them._

"Marian?" Fenris whispered in the dark. "Do you wish to ask me another question?" _Her mood has changed and swiftly. I feel it too now, the inevitable outcome. But I would not see her perish in this dank place without any joy, if knowing I care for her will give it._

"No, Fenris, I believe you have endured enough of my harassment for one day," she said. Her voice was barely audible even in the still of the cave. "I will leave you to your sleep."

_But I will not leave you to your loneliness. _"Marian," Fenris said. There was a waver in his voice, a type he had never heard. "I wish to tell you that it is you who has my attention."

Marian stared wide-eyed up into the darkness. The beating of her heart had become rapid and she could feel it in her chest. Several times she tried to speak only to find that her words were blocked by a smile. Fenris lay waiting for either rejection or confirmation of his suspicions. He waited for the sound of her voice to cut through the darkness and the fear. Eventually she answered.

"It was you," Marian said meekly and with effort. "I was speaking of you."

Fenris smiled the widest most uninhibited smile of his life. "I know."

"What do you mean, you know?" Marian asked, horrified that she had bared her feelings thinking he was ignorant of her infatuation. "I said those… _things _thinking you believed I was obsessed with another man and you let me! Why would you do that?"

His laughter annoyed her further. "Obsessed? I thought it was simple attraction," he laughed louder when she grumbled. "I stand corrected."

"I am ignoring you now," Marian said. She rolled away from him and pretended to be hurt. "I am completely disinterested."

"That is a travesty," Fenris said and his chest rumbled with a deep baritone chuckle. The playful teasing was his way of dealing with the trepidation and strange excitement he felt. She was attracted to him just as he was to her and that alone lifted his heart. Perhaps, it would bring them closer until the end and hopefully dampen the inevitable hell of starvation.

Marian rolled to face him once again. "I am not really disinterested in you, Fenris."

"I know," Fenris said and he snickered but this time it was quieter and more masculine. "Perhaps it would be best to discuss this during the light of day."

"Perhaps," Marian said and her voice was quiet and feminine. "But can it wait until after breakfast? I do not think I could speak of this while I eat."

Fenris grabbed one of the blankets that lay between their bodies. It was damp and cold but from experience he knew it would trap his body heat in as long as it did not touch his skin.

"Good night, Marian," Fenris said. He wondered if it would be more appropriate to move back to his bed, but the distance between them was great and he doubted she would take offence.

Marian stared in the direction of his voice. "Good night. I hope you sleep well." _He… told me he was attracted to me. _For Marian it was as if she lay looking up into the face of the Maker. Fenris had never been forthcoming with information or his feelings unless it concerned mages. To know of his attraction was astonishing. Later, when she could hear that his breathing had slowed and he was truly asleep, Marian quietly wept. She wept for them both, and because, what may have been between them would end in a hole in the ground.


	9. Chapter 9: Attraction

It has been some time since I've updated this story. Let's hope it makes sense and that I didn't screw the plot completely up. It would have been sooner had I not been ill three times over. Bleh. Excuses, excuses… I know!

Thank you to everyone who encouraged me to continue writing it. I really appreciate your kind words. I'll try to make Grace less annoying but I promise nothing ;)

**Day 3, morning...**

* * *

Fenris had awoken… happy. It terrified him. That was an emotion he reserved for killing slavers and thoughts of Danarius lying dead on the ground in a puddle of his own blood. _Marian, _he realized,_ has made me happy? A ridiculous infatuation with a woman has upturned my lips into an unnatural position. I smiled. What is wrong with me?_

Humored by his own thoughts, Fenris watched Marian sleep. During the night he had felt her shiver until her body succumbed to its own exhaustion. The cold did not chill him as it did Marian. Perhaps it was the markings or his own Elven resistance that made it bearable; whatever the reason he wished Marian was more immune to the elements. He had offered his blanket before bed but she refused stating that she could not sleep knowing he was cold. The solution to her problem was obvious. If they were to share body heat under the blankets it would keep Marian warm, perhaps even toasty enough to turn her cheeks pink. He loved it when she blushed, and yet, he could not find the courage to suggest they lie together for fear of being touched.

Fenris opened the packs and emptied the contents. After last night he was determined to find Marian's flint so they could light the lantern in the evening. What he found was disheartening; Marian had been hoarding her rations. There was a note tucked in to the food. Fenris looked over his shoulder to make certain she still slept before he opened it. He could recognize only one word: Fenris. It was enough to explain why she was not eating. But why was she saving the food for him?

There was enough food for two more days by his reckoning, perhaps more since Marian had not been eating her full share of rations. Water consumption had dropped because of inactivity, but even so, it amounted to little more than three days at best. Fenris wrapped the food tightly and placed it in his pack. He continued to rummage through her belongings and at the bottom he found the flint.

An idea came to Fenris, the kind that he believed would please Marian and occupy his mind in a positive way. He grabbed his drawing stick and walked to the far end of the cave. There he began to outline a picture. After his sketch was complete, Fenris began to collect rock the size of his hand. He formed small piles based on shape, color and luster. This picture would be his gift to Marian before they died. It would give him pleasure to see her face light up as it so often did when she was surprised. If he was lucky, she would make an awkward comment, blush, ineptly flirt and snort through her laughter. He had to admit that Marian's idiosyncrasies were adorable, at times annoying, but it was those simple reactions that set her apart from other people. Her flaws made her real and fun and nothing like the women he had known in the Imperium. It no longer surprised him that he was attracted to her, any man would have to be blind not to see that she was a wonderful woman.

Marian awoke feeling more tired than she had the previous night. Every day spent in the 'hole', as she had come to call it, leached a small portion of life from her body and brought her a step closer to death.

_I wake to such cheery thoughts these days, _Marian mused. _Tomorrow, I will probably practice digging my grave or writing my will in the dirt. And if I am feeling really plucky maybe I'll decide a cairn is more fashionable and start picking out my favorite rocks. Limestone with moss or without? Decisions, decisions, decisions... _

"How did you sleep?" Fenris asked. "You... were restless last night."

_Oh Maker! I forgot about last night and the confessions. _Marian smiled. _Technically we slept together, albeit a stones throw apart, but I actually had a man in my bed. _She squealed happily in her head._ I can't imagine why I might be restless. _

_I wonder if she is ill._ Fenris thought. _What if she regrets admitting her feelings to me?_ _I should have said nothing. I am such a fool. _"Marian?" Fenris asked. He sounded concerned. "Are you well?"

Marian cleared her throat. Small flecks of dust often fell from above and landed on her face during the night. For the rest of the day it would cause her to cough. _Yet, another great perk of living in the hole, _Marian thought. _It still smells better than Gamlen's hovel._

"I'm fine Fenris," she said. "How are you?"

Fenris wiped the stone dust from his hands and grabbed his pack from the ground. In three great strides he was standing over Marian. "Why have you been hoarding food?"

"You went through my pack?" Marian asked. The sound of anger and betrayal in her voice caused Fenris to flinch. "Why?"

"I was searching for your flint," Fenris said. He took a seat near where she lay but remained at a safe distance. "Answer the question."

Marian rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. Fenris wanted to smile at her childish stance, but he knew better than to anger her further. "Didn't you read the note?"

"No," Fenris whispered. There was a hint of shame in his words and he knew Marian had heard it. "I... cannot read."

"Oh," Marian said and the shape of 'o' lingered on her lips long after she had spoken. "Well... I decided that it would make sense if one of us was allowed to live longer than the other and since you have only begun to experience a free man's life it seemed fair that it be you."

"Your logic frightens me," Fenris said. He smirked at her annoyed expression. "Did you not think that I would prefer to be dead instead of alone in this hole? Did you consider the guilt I would feel to know you starved so that I may live?"

_Under normal circumstances I would find that sweet, _Marian thought_. Maker, he has a point. I wouldn't want to survive after watching him slowly die. I wonder which one of us would die first? Since I am flabbier than him I suppose it will be Fenris. Wonderful... Why do I think of these things?_

"I think I want to punish myself, Fenris," Marian admitted. "It is my fault you will never experience the good things in life. I had a whole list of activities planned for you."

Fenris perked up. "Activities?" he sounded amused. "Do tell."

_Fuck... Now he wants to know what "activities" I had in mind and I am sure he knows that said activities involve my horny imagination otherwise he would not be blushing and staring at his feet. Why is it I hear my mother telling me off every time I think the word 'fuck'? Maker, my mother's nagging voice is probably going to follow me to the grave. She will be there scolding me for using my potty mouth and then demand I sit up straight. 'You can't sit at the Maker's side if you do not sit up straight, Marian,' I can hear her say… I miss mother._

"I..." Marian blushed. _Think of something! My awkward silence is awkward. _"Activities like buying things in the market, seeing the inside of the Chantry, visiting the armory because I know you like sharp pointy things." _He's not convinced._

"I am not convinced that..." Fenris started to say to her horror.

Marian decided to come clean and admit to her obvious lies. "I don't lie very well do I?" She continued to ramble ignoring the fact that Fenris was trying to speak."I can't help it. Yes, the activities I imagined were not of a purely pure nature. I'm a woman and you're a very attractive man and..."

Fenris coughed. "I was going to say that I am not convinced those particular activities would appeal to me."

_I want to die, _Marian thought_. Right now. Die, die, die. Lightning bolt? Sudden flood? Sneezing? Hiccups? Oh come on! Please holy Maker, smite me._

Marian and Fenris sat ,both silently debating what they should say. If she escaped from the cave, Marian vowed to never show her face in public again, but Fenris... the budding determination to have sex with her took him by surprise. He wanted to experience one night with a woman as a free man. They were going to die. It was obvious. So why not let go of inhibitions and fulfill their desires? But he also realized it was selfish.

"Marian," Fenris said in a soft voice. "I have had intimate thoughts of you too."

A bright blush colored Marian's cheeks. Never had a man said those words to her openly and the risqué talk brought forth a pleasurable sensation inside and it warmed her body. She noticed that her nipples had hardened. _Great... now my breasts are conspiring against me._ _If he notices you two are more pokey out than usual I swear I will never wear silk against you again._

"You have thought of us together wearing no clothes?" Marian asked. _Did I really just ask that? Desperation does bring out the best in me._ "That is what you meant right?"

Fenris hesitated and then when he thought of their inevitable deaths in the coming weeks he continued to speak his mind. "Yes," he said in a deep voice. "You are a beautiful woman. Why would I not?"

She giggled and the sweet sound lightened Fenris's mood. Marian tucked a lock of wayward hair behind her ear. "I never thought you would feel the same. Men tend to ignore me. I was very plain compared to Bethany. She was the sort of woman men would stop and stare at, unless Carver or father was nearby."

"Then they were fools," Fenris said and he meant it. "You are a rarity among women and like any rare item it takes a keen eye to recognize it for its true value."

_If my nipples weren't already hard, I'd question why at this point. Any sane woman would kiss him now. They would run over to him preferably with their bosom heaving and their hair flowing and fall into his arms. He would bring them softly to the bed and crush his chest against their unruly breasts, because they do have a mind of their own, and have his wicked way. But I can't... Even now I worry about consequences. _

"I apologize if I made you uncomfortable," Fenris said. "It was not my intention. Perhaps we should speak of something else."

Marian's eyes narrowed. There was an internal struggle raging between duty and desire. She was the eldest, the one her father tasked with the continued survival of the family right before his death. She could not be frivolous and do as she pleased any day of the year. There was always work and it was hard back breaking labor that began at sunrise and ended with the bitching of her mother and siblings. No matter what she sacrificed it was never enough. But now that she knew how her life would probably end, Marian decided the Maker had given her one chance to be selfish and she grabbed hold of it.

Marian rose from the makeshift bed and moved to Fenris. He looked up at her, uncertainty written on his face and the question began to form on his lips. But before he could speak, Marian leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

"Thank you," she said.

Their eyes locked and their lips nearly touched. Marian waited. She wanted Fenris to be the first to initiate the kiss. He stared at her, his half-lidded eyes full of lust, but his fear would not allow him to act.

"You must be hungry," Fenris said and he moved quickly away from Marian. "I will prepare breakfast."

Fenris grabbed his pack and divided the food into two portions. The largest portion he gave to Marian. Breakfast consisted of salted pork, carrots and a spoonful of honey. Some would find the food insubstantial but Fenris even under their dire circumstances was pleased to have three meals a day. The freedom to sleep, eat and express an opinion when he desired had been worth the effort to escape his former master. He may die in a cave but he would die free and that thought comforted Fenris.

"Please eat or I will be forced to take drastic measures," Fenris said.

"Are you threatening me?" she teased. "And all this time I thought you were misunderstood, that you were really a sweet, loveable man that ripped people's hearts out of their chests by accident."

To Marian's surprise, Fenris sat down next to her on the makeshift bed. It made her feel giddy. _He is close enough for me to touch. I wonder if he would let me? Maybe he will touch me? Could I fake a convulsion and fall into his arms? I wonder if we will look at each other and then he will fall into the depths of my eyes, see my passion and lay me down and deflower me?_

"Those whose hearts I have ripped from their chests deserved it," Fenris said. "I would not do so otherwise."

Marian's eyebrow rose. "I was being silly. Please don't glow."

"It is too early to glow," Fenris said with a smile. "Perhaps it would be more appropriate in the dark. Tonight."

_I wonder if he has any idea how much I'd love to see that, _Marian thought._ Maybe I just invented a new fetish._

"This is awkward now that we know there is a mutual attraction, is it not?" Marian said. "Maybe it is just me that feels that way. I have little experience to call upon when it comes to men. Actually… I have none."

_She is a virgin? _Fenris thought. _That would explain much... but by her own admission she has imagined coupling with me. Why? Surely, there have been men in her life that were more suitable? I have to admit that those men may not live in Kirkwall but she could return to Ferelden to find a suitor. Why me?_

Fenris shifted uneasily on the bed. The conversation was awkward, more so than he had anticipated. "I have never allowed anyone too close," he explained. "After I escaped Danarius I realized there was no one I could trust."

"You can trust me," Marian said and she smiled.

"Can I?" Fenris asked.

"What?" Marian's eyes widened and her temper flared. "I helped you kill a band of slavers and volunteered to aid in your fight against Danarius and you wonder if you can trust me? That may seem like a trifle to you but I don't risk my life or my friends' lives for just anyone."

Fenris laid his plate down. "I apologize," he said. "Please understand that you are the only person who has helped me without expecting a great sum of money in return. I am still uncertain why you did so, but do not think me ungrateful."

The tempestuous crunch of a carrot showed that Marian was still annoyed. She pointed the orange root vegetable at his chest. "I helped you because I hate slavers and because I saw the same fear in your eyes as I had seen in Bethany's on many occasions. My little sister used to cry every night even when she was older because she was convinced the templars would come to take her and father away the next day. No one should have to constantly watch over their shoulder. No one."

It made sense now. Marian had helped because she understood what it meant to live on the run. From what he had gathered, her family had lived a nomadic life in order to avoid the threat of the templars. Fenris could not remember his childhood but he could imagine the fear a child would experience when woken in the middle of the night and whisked away from their bed yet again.

"Do you resent the life you had to lead?" Fenris asked. "It could not have been easy."

"It was difficult, but we were determined to stay together," Marian said. "It would have killed me to lose my little sister and father." She sighed. "I did in the end, but at least they died free. So you see, I do understand and if we get out of this cave I promise you this: I won't let Danarius have you."

Fenris bowed his head. There were no words to convey the feelings she had awoken in him. They were unlike any he could recall and he struggled to find a word that encompassed them. It came to him as he sat thinking. 'I won't let Danarius have you." He realized that he had found the one person in all of Thedas that honestly cared for him.

Fenris reached over and clasped her hand. "Thank you," he whispered. "I owe you a great deal."

Marian smiled when she realized his hand was resting in her own. "You owe me nothing."


	10. Chapter 10: My Unmentionables

Hello! Raise your hand if you missed Grace. Sorry, but she is back.

Thank you for all the reviews, favs, alerts etc. A big thanks to those of you who prodded me to continue writing this insane story. I don't know about this chapter, but it was fun to write. Maybe not so fun to read o_O So I hope enjoy it. Thank you :D

**Chapter 10: My Unmentionables**

* * *

The afternoon tea table was covered in fine white linen, decked to the brim with silverware, and laden with dainty porcelain tableware. Grace had overseen everything from the color of the napkins to the flowers in her hair, which complimented the delicate roses on her teacup. It was a vision of perfection as far as she was concerned.

_Do not fill it to the brim. Leave space for the cream, _Grace thought of her mother's words as she poured the tea_. And for Maker's sake do not dribble it onto the tablecloth._

Abigail Mercier watched Grace pour the tea with the sharpest scrutiny, and when the last drop rippled the tan liquid, she feigned disinterest; it had been a success. She took a sip, with pinky raised, and placed the cup back onto the saucer. Grace waited for Abigail to pat down her skirt and stop staring off in the distance like a philosopher observing the mundane before reinventing it with fancy words. In Orlesian society one did not rush to converse, they waited, allowing silence to linger before words were uttered. It was the pompous prayer of self-importance.

"Starkhaven is a prominent city in the Free Marches correct? I find its mimicry of Val Royeaux quaint." Abigail took a sip of her tea and turned to stare once again into the distance. The moment, she felt, had seized her presence.

_Quaint? _Grace curled her lip while Abigail practiced her pose for the painting her parents had commissioned. She was the daughter of a rich Orlesian merchant and lady from Starkhaven. _She forgets her place. Lady Brighton was never as prominent as my grandmother. Her family could barely afford a proper debut. I may not have been born in Orlais but I certainly know when someone is posturing. _

"I suppose there are those who would find Starkhaven quaint, but they would obviously be ignorant of the importance it plays in the Free Marches. That is usually a sign of poor breeding."

Abigail pursed her lips. Grace had won this argument. "I would not know. I only meant quaint in the picturesque sense. It reminds me of Robert de Bois's latest work entitled: _The Scythes_. Have you seen it?"

Grace straightened her back. She hated being put on the spot. _No... But I am not going to admit it. _"Of course."

Abigail leaned over. She whispered details of the painting's origins. "Did you know that Robert de Bois dedicated the painting to Catherine Girard?"

"I… did not know." Grace could tell by Abigail's tone that this dedication was somehow indecent. As a resident of Starkhaven gossip from Orlais was infrequent. "How was it received?"

The young Orlesian woman rolled her eyes. "Well my mother, who had attended Catherine Girard's salon in the spring, said that Anne de Bois, Robert's wife, was livid. I do not know why. It is common knowledge that Catherine is Robert's mistress. Why must Anne make such a fuss? If it were me, I would simply find a lover, probably an Elven lover. That would wound any man's pride."

"An Elven lover? But surely a man would be less… how should I say? Less repulsive? More acceptable?" Grace questioned. Now she fully understood why beautiful Elven servants were highly prized by Orlesian nobility. "If it is fashionable then I suppose one may consider it."

Abigail laughed. "Oh my poor Grace. You lead such a sheltered life here in Starkhaven. I thought after your first year at university you would surely understand the intricacies, both proper and improper, of Orlesian high society. I guess it will be my endeavor to raise you above your bourgeois mentality."

It was an insult. Any self-respecting noblewoman would see it at face value and counter it with an equally polite insult, but Grace's curiosity piqued. After reading about Marian Hawke and her budding relationship with the 'peculiar elf', she wanted to understand why a woman would want to bed an Elven man. Truth be known, Grace was not well versed when it came to matters of sex and men. Her mother almost fainted the day she asked how babies were created. On many occasions she had found the odd book in the library concerning the union between man and woman. Strangely, those books disappeared before she dared take them to her room and read. She suspected her grandmother had placed them on the bookshelf and her mother had removed them.

"Who is that elf near the woodpile?" Abigail pointed at a tall, muscular Elven man with an axe. "He is athletic and mature. You want one who is mature. They have experience with women and greater stamina than the young."

Paleness washed over Grace's face. "Stamina?" she managed to choke out. "But he is married and I am a noblewoman. Why would you even speak of such a thing?"

"You are truly ignorant, Grace," Abigail tutted into her teacup. "You marry first and then you take a lover. Of course, if your suitor is of an adventurous type then you would do well to be practiced in the art of lovemaking. Honestly, do you know nothing of men?"

The statement jolted Grace's inborn pride. She would not be demeaned further by a woman of lower status. If she wished to be educated in the ways of Orlesian private affairs, she would find a more reliable source. The Mercier family was not highly esteemed in Starkhaven and their status was less in Orlais. This was not a woman whom she needed to impress, but a woman who should be thankful she was invited to take afternoon tea with one of Starkhaven's finest families.

"Excuse me, but I think I shall retire to my room." Grace rose from her seat, patted down the wrinkles from her dress and walked inside brusquely inside leaving Abigail lost for words. Grace hoped a fly would find its way into her friend's open mouth. If she was lucky, Abigail would choke to death.

_There is perhaps one person who can give me an insight into the attraction between a human woman and Elven man: Marian Hawke, _Grace considered as she walked to her room_. It may be a deplorable romance novel but at least it does not patronize me by trying to be more than it is. _

Fresh flowers had been placed in Grace's favorite vase next to her side table, along with Starkhaven's finest chocolates and perfume. But Grace ignored it all. Instead, she grabbed the book lying next to the finery and planted her rump on the bed and began to read:

* * *

**Day 3, Afternoon…**

Marian admired her handiwork. She pointed to the letters under her childish drawing of a fish. _I know he hates fish but his overreaction is adorable and it makes his ears turn red._

Fenris pointed to the ground. "That is your attempt at humor?" One thing he had discovered while being trapped in a cave with Marian was her playfulness. It threatened to drive him insane. "Must you?"

"Yes I must. It's funny, sourpuss."

"Sourpuss?" he huffed. Secretly Fenris enjoyed the teasing. It was a type of attention he had never received. "I thought it was your dwarven friend who thought up ridiculous names."

"Varric would approve of 'sourpuss'." Marian underlined the word 'fish' and her teaching persona came to life. "Now, I thought it might be best to start with a word that generates such wonderful emotion in you."

Fenris stomped on the picture until all that remained was his footprint. "The taste of bile in the back of my throat is not something I would ascribe to a wonderful emotion."

"But it's cute when you scowl and roll your eyes," Marian teased. _Did I really just call him cute? It's a wonder he hasn't ripped my heart out. It would be understandable._

Fenris raised his infamous eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. "Cute? Ducklings are cute; an elf that kills slavers without remorse and leaves them to die in a pool of their own blood… is… uncute."

The statement was enough to convince Marian that she should continue with the lesson and stop aggravating him. "Do you remember the sound of each letter?"

"Of course," he scolded. "Do you take me for an idiot?"

_Fenris is an unruly student. Maybe I should paddle him! _

"No, but I do take you for a stubborn mule who is too proud to admit when he needs help," Marian stated as she prodded him in the thigh with the pointing stick.

"Maybe it is too late for me to learn," he said in an attempt to hide his fear of failure. He could see that Marian was not impressed by his excuse.

"I'm not letting you off that easy. You are an extremely intelligent man, capable of speaking two languages, familiar with many customs and you keep great company in caves," she suggested as she attempted to toss her hair behind her shoulder. However, the maneuver had been too vigorous and the hair whipped around and covered her face. Fenris chuckled as he watched her brush it away.

"Was that an attempt at flirting or a spasm in your neck?" If it were not for his lopsided grin Marian would never have forgiven Fenris. "Perhaps you should consider cutting it shorter for your own safety."

"Oh, aren't we the funny one." Marian took a seat on the ground. She slumped over and brought her knees to her chest. "You know, Fenris… before this disaster, we wanted the same thing."

_I think I prefer the inept flirting. Why did she stop? _"How do you mean?"

"I was trying to better my life just like you," she whispered and then sighed. "I guess it doesn't matter now."

Fenris watched the liveliness in Marian's face dehydrate into a brittle display of melancholy. He was sorry he had been obtuse; after all they needed a distraction.

"I am sorry," Marian whispered. A small rock flew across the cave and bounced off of the wall. She had thrown it in an attempt to relieve some of her frustration, but it only reminded her that Carver may be on the other side. "Some adventurer, eh? I can't even find a way out of this hole."

Fenris moved from his second favorite rock and was seated beside Marian. "There is no one who lives that would be able to escape this place. Maybe we should return to the reading lesson? I will try to be less of a stubborn mule."

_I wish he would give me a hug. I could really do with a hug. _Marian smirked, though she wanted to cry. "Impossible sourpuss."

Marian gathered up her writing stick and drew several words on the ground. She discovered that Fenris was quick to learn, and as they continued, she was pleased to see his confidence grow.

_He is addicted now, _Marian thought while she listened to him read a simple sentence.

_This has to be one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. There is power and freedom in the ability to read and write. I hope he sees that too._

After reading his latest sentence, Fenris smiled. It wasn't meant for Marian, but an expression of his achievement. He was defying the mindset of a slave and rising above the life that Danarius had intended for him. He never wanted it to end.

_I wish I could tell her how much this means to me. There is nothing I could offer this woman to repay the kindness she has shown me. I am not worthy of her friendship or her compassion. But I will find a way to express my gratitude. _

Marian listened attentively as Fenris continued to read simple words and sentences. While he struggled with the word 'apple' she tried to think of a way to escape. They couldn't die like this, not after everything they had survived. It would be a waste and she refused to accept it.

"I could do with a drink. Shall we take a break, Fenris?" Marian asked.

He nodded in agreement and suggested that they leave the next lesson for tomorrow. The sun was beginning to set and they needed to see to dinner before it grew dark.

While Fenris stretched his back, Marian rummaged through her dirty clothing. _This may not be one of my better ideas, but it is worth a try, _Marian considered._ Under normal circumstances I would die of embarrassment. I think we are past that now. Several days without a bath, sharing a hole in a ground for a toilet and listening to each other talk in our sleep tends to relieve people of their dignity, even broody people. Now… how does one secure their smallclothes around a rock?_

The sight of Marian bent over drew Fenris's attention. _I should deflect my eyes but… _He admired the hourglass shape of her hips and the pertness of her rump. _If she were not a virgin I would question whether her provocative stance was deliberate._

"Fenris!" Marian abruptly stood upright. Fenris averted his eyes and pretended the cave wall was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen in his life.

She held up a rock as if it was the discovery of a century. "Do you think you could throw this through the hole in the ceiling?"

"Of all the things I thought I might be asked today this has to be… I don't know," he answered. "Why?"

Marian stared at the rock and the smallclothes wrapped around it. _Is this really a good idea? _she questioned_. He is going to expect an explanation. What do I say? I guess as long as I don't proclaim it to be a token of my love he may not think me completely insane._

She shoved the rock into his hand. "Just humor me."

Fenris studied the rock. "I'm no expert but I would say that lace does not usually grow on rocks. Marian…" he said in a deep tentative voice. "Why are your smallclothes wrapped around this rock? More importantly, please tell me they are clean."

_Maybe this wasn't such a great idea._

"Definitely clean," she lied. It did not matter that his face was covered with a look of disgust, Marian blushed at the sight of Fenris eyeing her knickers. "Please, do this for me."

_This is not exactly how I imagined our first intimate encounter, _he thought_. Why is this woman so odd, but so pretty? _

Fenris dropped the rock and brushed his hand against his trousers. "There had better be a good reason for this."

She threw her hands up to the sky like a madman praying for a sign that the end of the world was nigh. It did nothing to help her cause. "If someone is searching for us they may bring my Mabari or they may have their own hound. He would pick up my scent and alert others to our presence."

_Even the pretty is starting to lose its charm. _"I have no doubt that your supposedly clean smallclothes would provide a… potent scent," Fenris's lip curled as he eyed the offensive object on the ground. "But why not a blouse or a sock? Why must it be of such an intimate nature?"

"It's probably the most… fragrant." Her face scrunched, horrified by what she had said. "Now, will you just throw it?"

Fenris picked the rock up from the ground by two fingers. He made certain that no part of his skin came in contact with the material. "The things you convince me to do, Marian." His lyrium lit and he used the energy to throw the rock through the hole. It landed above with a loud thump.

_Handing a man my dirty unmentionables should not illicit thoughts of sexy time with him, but Maker… I should flirt. _"You really do have good aim," Marian said and she winked.

Fenris's signature eyebrow rose. He crossed his arms over his chest and studied Marian. "Do you have something in your eye?" he asked.

"No," she said pointedly. "I winked at you." Her cheeks flushed when Fenris's expression did not change. "Which is flirting!"

_I enjoy it when she is flustered. It is very distracting. _

"I am aware of that. It is simply fun to torment you."

"Maker's breath," Marian laughed. "You are not funny." She drew a picture of a cat with a sad face on the ground and wrote sourpuss next to it. "That's you."

Fenris grabbed the stick and drew a close representation of Marian's face with hair standing on end. "And that is you in the morning."

"Leave my bed hair out of this," Marian poked his chest with her stick. "Hey… what is brown and sticky?"

"Not again," Fenris groaned.

"A stick!" Her giggling amused Fenris but he did not let it show. She slapped her knee, entertained by her own childishness. "That one never gets old."

Fenris snatched the stick from her hands. "For you, perhaps," he proclaimed. "There are some of us who enjoy adult conversation." He pointed to the pack sitting next to Marian's makeshift bed. "It is your turn to prepare the evening meal. I will see to the lantern. I do not trust your hair near anything flammable."

"Fine, but I'm having fish tonight," she said to irritate him. Fenris grunted in response. He was too busy readying the lantern to take much notice. She suspected that he considered playing with fire more of a man thing and when men are occupied with man things they ignore women. "Have fun with the lantern." He ignored her jibe.

Marian grabbed the pack and pulled the rations out. During her preparation of the food she snuck peeks at Fenris. He was knelt on the ground striking the flint against the lantern wick without success, which amused her. _That's going to hurt his manly pride. _There was the odd grumble, but she could not see his expression. _He hides under that hair. He hides his feelings from the world. I wish he would cut it, if only a bit shorter so I could see his face more clearly. I would be able to see the angular jaw line, the curve of his cheeks, the small blush that always covers them and his big green eyes. _She plopped a carrot onto Fenris's plate. _Maybe some day soon, before we perish in this damn hole, I will be able to push his hair back and show him that he does not need to hide from me. _


	11. Chapter 11: Revelations

For Stupiak Kitty. Her knickers may rot but it will be with love ;)

I gave quite a bit away in this chapter because I am pathetic at updating and rather than leaving people in the dark, I thought it best to divulge some secrets. If there is a demand for this story I will keep writing. I tend to be engrossed in Lyrium Ghost most of the time because I am close to finishing it. But... this story is much more fun to write.

Thank you very much for reading! I appreciate it as always :D

**Chapter 11: Revelations**

* * *

"Let the mana flow through you. Remember: relax, breathe and release."

Grace opened one eye and peeked up at her great-uncle. Today was the most hated day of the week: magical training. Some people saw magic as a blessing but Grace felt it was a curse. She was required to wear a robe dyed with garish colors. It was tradition, dating back to the days of the Circle, a barbaric age as far as Grace was concerned. Mages had been forced to live apart from the rest of society and were watched constantly by templars without fashion sense.

"Grace, you are peeking again," her great-uncle said. He smirked once her eyes were closed. There was a time when he too was impatient and bored by magic. But with age had come patience and the wisdom to understand how important it was to be in control of his powers. "Now, release the mana."

Two large flames of mana erupted from Grace's hands. "Control the flow, Grace. Keep the flame straight and unwavering." After a few deep breaths the flames grew steady and instead of looking like a great inferno, they fit snugly in her hands. "Good. Now slowly allow it to diminish."

Once the blue flames of mana disappeared, Grace opened her eyes and stared up at her great-uncle. "Can we be finished now?"

Great-uncle Malcolm held out his hand and helped Grace to stand. "You know, Grace, you should be thankful that you are not being taught by Albert today." Malcolm smiled at her disgruntled face. "Lucky for you he is busy redecorating my office."

"So it is true then. You are stepping down from First Enchanter?" Grace asked. Her great-uncle Malcolm should have retired ten years ago in Grace's opinion. He was too old and frail to be dealing with unruly mages.

"I will be working part-time until I feel Albert no longer needs my assistance," Malcolm said. He laughed. "As far as Albert is concerned I have nothing left to teach him."

Grace rolled her eyes. Albert was her first cousin once removed and a complete bore. He did not drink, laugh, smile or joke and he always wore his mage robes. Even to weddings! The only topic he would discuss was magic and the politics surrounding the magi community. He even married a mage and had three mage children. It was lucky too, otherwise the child without magic would have been very bored.

"Great-uncle, why is Albert so..."

"Drab?" Malcolm asked. He wrapped his arm around Grace's shoulder and gave her a light squeeze. "He wasn't always that way. My son used to be quite the free spirit in his youth. Albert and your father got into all kinds of trouble."

"My father?" Grace was surprised Malcolm had mentioned him. No one spoke of her father unless it was necessary.

"They still don't talk about him do they?" Malcolm said. He shook his head and snorted. "Damnable women. They think they have the monopoly on sorrow. Well... they don't," he said curtly. "We all miss him, Grace."

Grace concentrated on the wrinkles in her robe. She did not want Malcolm to see the tears that had begun to well in her eyes. "I know nothing of him," she whispered. "Not even his name."

"They do not want you to ask questions or find answers," Malcolm said. "It's understandable considering what happened to him, but you should know the truth." He shook his staff as if Grace's mother and grandmother were standing in front of him. "I would tell you. I would tell you everything, but then my sister would burn me to a crisp." Malcolm leaned over and began to whisper. "Don't tell anyone but female mages scare me when they are angry and Madeline... Maker, she takes after our mother. That's reason enough not to make her angry."

"Why won't anyone tell me the truth?" Grace implored with arms raised high. "I am no longer a child and I deserve to know."

Malcolm was waiting for her to stomp her foot, but thankfully it never came. "Grace, you have led a charmed life and you are detached from hardship. It is for that reason that your mother and grandmother have delayed the explanations that you claim to deserve."

Grace wanted to argue the point, but she was too captivated by her great-uncle's willingness to divulge information about her father and family. They began to walk instep together through the leaf covered courtyard and landscaped garden.

"Madeline and I had very different viewpoints when it came to rearing children. I have always been told that I was the perfect blend of our parents, whereas Madeline was more like our mother and our older brother was exactly like father. Of course, I was very young when mother and father died so I cannot say for certain."

These were family secrets that Grace had longed to hear. Her grandmother Madeline never spoke of her parents. Her past life was a mystery. "I have another great-uncle?" Grace asked.

"You had," Malcolm said sadly. "He died long before your mother was born and I will say nothing else of that."

It was unusual for her great-uncle to become melancholy during a discussion. He laughed often and reflected on life with an optimistic outlook. "I am sorry," Grace said. "I should not have pried."

"It is your family too, Grace," Malcolm said. "Until your mother deems it time, I cannot speak fully of our family. Do not think too harshly of her. She is doing what believes is best."

"You mean treating me like a child?"

"No, keeping you safe, Grace."

_Keeping me safe? From what? I dare say her constant criticism is a far greater threat to me and the future severity of my wrinkles than some boring family history._

"I do not understand," Grace finally said.

"You will."

Grace and Malcolm entered her room. He admired the rosebush outside of her window. It had been planted by him years ago when Grace was a young girl. To this day, Grace still cuts a bouquet to bring to him when she visits. Malcolm eased his old body down onto the edge of the window seat. The book on Grace's nightstand caught his attention. He picked it up and began to thumb through the pages.

"Let me guess, Madeline asked you to read this?" Malcolm said. He raised a speculative eyebrow at one of the pages. "What an interesting approach. I guess it is a clever way to ease into it."

_My great-uncle read a romance novel? What is wrong with my family? _"What are you talking about? It's a bad romance novel written by someone named Varric Tethras," Grace said. "He is even in the story."

Malcolm chuckled. "Now there is a name I have not heard in some time." A broad smile formed on his face and he shook his head as he replayed a memory in his mind. "Maker that dwarf was insane and bloody nosy."

"Wait... you knew the author?"

"I dare say he knew me better," Malcolm answered in a thoughtful tone. "But that... was a long time ago when I was much younger and full of myself."

Grace pointed to the book. "So this story is true then?" she was hopeful he would say no. "I thought it was a bad romance novel."

"It is bad but in a good way," Malcolm said. "The dwarf took certain liberties but for most part it is an accurate portrayal of the life of Marian Hawke."

"But it is ridiculous," Grace argued. She pranced about the room while trying to make sense of what she had been told. "Why would anyone want to tell a story of a roguish woman stuck in a cave with a peculiar elf? And why would grandmother give me something so common to read?"

"Because she has a wicked sense of humor," Malcolm said. He opened the book to the page that had been bookmarked. "Ah... they are still in the cave. What an awful existence." He peered up at Grace and smiled at her objectionable stance. "They get out you know."

"So I suspected, otherwise the book would be much smaller," Grace said. "It is going on a bit. I had hoped they would have been rescued by now."

Malcolm smiled warmly at the book as if it were a long lost friend. "Trust me when I say that I am thankful they were not rescued at that point," he said. "The book would lose its charm otherwise."

"You believe being trapped in a cave with an elf and facing starvation is charming, great-uncle?" _He has been smoking his pipe, _Grace thought._ I will have to tell Albert to hide it again._

"Ah... with an elf," Malcolm said. "I suppose that is a very important detail. If one is going to die it should be dignified. We would not want it to be at the side of an elf now, would we?"

"You are either mocking me or you dislike the impropriety of the situation as I do," Grace said. "It hardly seems to matter in this story. She is infatuated with him."

"That she is." The old mage rubbed the cover of the book. The gold lettering was fading and the binding was beginning to loosen. It felt as if it were only yesterday when he had seen it in pristine condition. "They have a child you know."

"What?" Grace was alarmed by the prospect. "She... has a child with him?" The very thought turned her stomach. "Why?"

"It was not planned," Malcolm said. "What do you think two people who are clearly infatuated with each other would do if they believed they were going to die?"

_Am I really having this discussion with my ancient great-uncle? Ewww. _"Out of wedlock and with an elf?" Grace asked. She was horrified by the idea that Marian had let the elf touch her and do... _things_. "She must have brought shame to her family, and what about her poor mother? That must have been very disappointing."

"Actually, Leandra did not take long to accept that she was going to be a grandmother," Malcolm said. "It was Fenris who was most ashamed and not for the reason you may think. The way Varric recounts it is quite humorous and inappropriate."

"That hardly surprises me," Grace said. "What did that dwarf find humorous about being burdened with a half-elven child and living with it in a hovel?"

Malcolm closed the book and for a moment he was quiet. Grace wondered if he had dozed off. "That part is not humorous. It caused Marian grief but it pushed her harder to change her life. Besides, once you understand how much she loved her son, I think you will agree that the money did not matter. It is before the birth that I find humorous."

Malcolm laid the book gently down onto the nightstand. He ran his hand over the cover once before continuing with his explanation. "You see, Marian Hawke was determined to provide for her remaining family. If that meant speaking with the seneschal while nine months pregnant and seeking a chamber pot halfway through the conversation then so be it. She also vomits at the feet of the Arishok. I like that part because his expression does not change."

"She continued to fight while expecting?" Grace looked as if she had just tasted a rotten lemon. Malcolm had seen the same expression on his own daughter's face after he ran her boyfriend off. She got her revenge by marrying him five years later. "That's awful!"

"She had no choice," Malcolm said. "However, she did limit her adventures during that time to safe investigations and enquiries and rarely fought. The truth is, Fenris kept her from harm. He was quite devoted to the mother and child in his own way."

"I have to admit, albeit ashamedly, that I was growing fond of Marian, but now I am uncertain if I should continue to read," Grace said. "What do you think, great-uncle?"

Malcolm handed Grace the book. "I think, my dear Grace, that if you want answers then you should continue to read. When you are finished, tell your grandmother." He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "I will see you next week. And do practice. I would hate it if you had to spend a week on probation in the tower with Albert. He would bore you to tears. Maker knows he does me."


End file.
